Deeper Secrets
by purplecleric
Summary: The Mutant Cop Squad returns for another mix of drama, humour, romance and angst. This AU story takes place a year after the events of 'Secrets' - if you haven't read that, this'll make no sense at all...
1. Chapter 1

Elizabeth Rodgers fingered the letter in the pocket of her jeans, not needing to read it as she had memorised each word written in the careful cursive handwriting.

"_...I cannot fully express my gratitude for the comfort you have brought me. While his death still brings much sadness, the knowledge that my son's soul is not condemned by suicide is a blessing..."_

Rodgers squeezed Ross' hand, needing to share the warmth the words always brought, and he responded with a puzzled smile.

"I was thinking about Angelo."

Ross nodded, the action stirring his curls, and she tried to pinpoint the time they had become more grey than black. It was a stupid exercise; just her mind trying to avoid more troubling thoughts.

"It's hard to think that before..." Her words faltered and she pulled her hand from her pocket, waving it about to take in the square and the recently rebuilt One Police Plaza in front of them. Rodgers carried on hastily.

"The poor woman would have spent the rest of her days believing her son had taken his own life. After all, that's what the evidence indicated, and nothing in the post mortem contradicted the findings."

It was Ross' turn to squeeze her hand.

"Then it's a good job you were on the case and that it happened after..." His words trailed off and he mimicked her gesture, both of them still finding it difficult to talk about the events of a year ago. "You go on ahead; I want to grab a paper."

"Anything wrong, Danny?"

Sometimes Rodgers wished that she could touch him and know what was going on in his head, the things he concealed with witty one-liners or a gesture of affection. But he'd have to be dead for her to do that. He'd come too close to that a year ago for her to ever want to experience it again. She shuddered at the memory. Ross' sharp blue eyes caught the motion.

"Hey, don't worry. I'd _know _if anything bad was about to happen." Yes, he'd know but that didn't mean he'd tell her. His eyes softened. "I just want my crossword fix, Elizabeth. I aim to beat Goren's time one day and maybe it'll be today."

They both smiled at that unlikely prospect. Rodgers straightened a little, already beginning to don her professional persona of Chief Medical Examiner in preparation for the day ahead.

"Shame your premonitions don't extend to such trivialities, I'd be placing a bet with Logan."

Their laughter was a little forced.

Captain Danny Ross relaxed as he watched Rodgers stride off towards the main doors; she would have seemed mannish if it wasn't for the way her stylish bobbed hair swung as she walked, its rich copper tones flashing in the early morning sun. Private time with Elizabeth was precious and he savoured every moment but today he wanted a little time alone before he started work - time to reflect.

A year!

A year since the New York City Police Department Headquarters, more commonly known as One Police Plaza or 1PP, had collapsed. A year since he had nearly died, since he had discovered that he was not the only one who had... a secret. Such revelations were earth -shattering but the world had continued to turn and the sun still rose every morning. Ross studied the building before him; a red brick monolith rising up from the square, its banks of blank windows keeping watch over the city. Thanks to a limited budget, and the limited imaginations of the city planners, 1PP did not look much different from how it had looked a year ago.

Like everything else - like us,Ross mused, as he wandered over to the newspaper vendor. The real changes were deeper, hidden away from prying eyes. Only someone familiar with the way things had been would notice the subtle differences. But the changes were not subtle to those affected. Instead they were a constant pointed reminder that they were different, that their lives would never be the same again.

With a sigh Ross tucked the paper under his arm and made his way into the building.

The elevator seemed to take an eternity to arrive and as the seconds ticked by the tightness in Ross' chest increased. This was not a prediction of the future, just a phantom of the past. A lengthy stay in hospital followed by months of physical therapy had dealt with the physical damage but the memories...

The 'ping' announcing the arrival of the elevator was a welcome interruption to his thoughts and Ross only felt a brief pang as he took a deep breath and entered the car. His stomach fluttered and made him feel a little queasy. No, that was not a premonition, either. Just nerves. Odd, because it was not his first day back and all the big decisions had already been debated and decided. This first anniversary was certainly having an effect on him. Elizabeth, too, if she was carrying around that letter like a talisman. He wondered how the others were faring.

The first thing he saw as the doors opened onto the eleventh floor caused his already unsettled stomach to lurch. 'Special Services Division' the freshly painted sign announced. No more Major Case Squad. Not since some wag had nicknamed them the Mutant Cop Squad, especially not since it had been abbreviated to MuCoS - a name that had unfortunately stuck.

The bank of fire extinguishers on the wall beneath the sign were another new addition, the result of many hours spent with a man with a grey suit and a clipboard who had gone on and on about risk assessments as if they were the Holy Grail. The members of this department were voyagers in uncharted territory, who knew what risks there could be? Still, considering Falacci's temper, maybe the additional fire extinguishers were a good idea.

Ross' mind reeled and he reached out a hand to steady himself. The solid brick wall was a reassuring support as he closed his eyes, chaotic images churning in his head. _This_ was a premonition. He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a small Dictaphone and began to speak into it, describing the vision, trying to focus on the small details that would indicate time, place and who was involved. But it was hard to concentrate amid the sound of screams, the sight of bodies prone on the sidewalk and the feelings of panic and confusion.

Gradually the vision faded and Ross leaned back against the wall, taking a moment to compose himself. He still wasn't accustomed to the way his 'gift' disorientated him, he didn't think he ever would be. He tried to vocalise the pervasive sensation of dread that indicted, whatever this incident was, it meant something bad was going to happen to someone close, maybe even himself. A feeling that was all too familiar. Perhaps it was just the anniversary that made it seem so disturbing. He hoped so. Still, it wouldn't be good to show the squad he was worried, not if they were already unsettled by their own memories.

Remembering to add the date and time to his recording, Ross slipped the Dictaphone back into his pocket, threw back his shoulders and strode into the bullpen.


	2. Chapter 2

"Morning, Cap'n. Had any dreams about this week's lottery numbers?"

Logan was the first to greet Ross as he entered the squad room and, judging by his grin and relaxed manner, he was not outwardly bothered by the significance of today. But Logan was not the sort to show it.

"Good morning to you, Logan. And you know I don't 'see' things like that."

Of course Logan knew. After all, the squad had spent several months getting to know each other's new strengths – a particularly apt description in terms of Logan – and limits. It had been more valuable than any of the Health and Safety guy's risk assessments in learning how to adapt to the changes. The Dictaphone in his pocket and Logan's sturdier desk were testament to that. Ross continued their customary ritual.

"You could always ask Tiggs – he's the numbers guy."

Nigel Tiggs was a new addition to Major – Ross corrected himself - to Special Services. Previously working with officers investigating organised crime, particularly the money laundering side of things, Tiggs had often been called upon to unpick the complex financial scams that sometimes cropped up in their work. It hadn't taken long to realise that Tiggs had a _secret_, too. Not surprising really; after all, why should only one department have been affected?

"Nah..." Logan leaned back in his chair. "You know I can never get the weirdos to open up – I'm not on the right wavelength."

Instinctively, he and Ross both glanced across at Goren, who was living up to his own whack job reputation at that moment by suddenly leaping up from his chair and letting out a yelp for no apparent reason.

Logan shook his head and carried on.

"Tiggs wouldn't let on, anyway. If he's profiting from his thing with numbers, then he's keeping it well hidden."

Falacci interrupted him.

"About keeping things hidden... I need to talk to you, Captain."

"Sure. Give me ten minutes to get a handle on the day, then come see me." Ross paused a moment, taking in the way Falacci was nervously fingering the folder on the desk before her, her pale face highlighting the freckles across her cheeks. "Unless..?"

"No, it can wait."

Falacci's reply contained more of her usual pep, reassuring Ross. Trying to rein in his speculations, he stepped neatly around the metal pail of water by the side of Falacci's desk and caught sight of Logan smoothing down his tie. His plaid tie. There it was – Logan's 'tell'. Since his move from Staten Island, the blazers and their accompanying accessory had gradually been replaced by suits and less garish ties. But every now and then...

Ross's progress across the bullpen to his office was slow as he took a moment to check in with each member of the division. Petronelli delayed him the longest.

"Here's Lucas, wearing the hat his Grammy knitted him, eating his tea. He's already on solids. See how he's holding the spoon. He's very dexterous, advanced for his age."

Ross looked up from the umpteenth nearly identical photo of Petronelli's son to see Jeffries rolling his eyes. He bit back a laugh, remembering how he had been when his eldest had been born. They made an odd pair, Petronelli and Jeffries, as disparate in personality as they were in looks; one all boyish laid-back charm with fatherhood making him seem younger than ever, the other hard-boiled and cynical who seemed to have been born old.

Not the oddest pair in this most peculiar of departments, Ross thought as he made his penultimate stop at the desks of Goren and Eames, the latter not quite meeting his eyes as he greeted them. Eames still carried a lot of guilt over his injuries and today it was probably uppermost in her mind. Ross didn't have anything fresh to say to ease her pain, they'd been over this several times before and nothing had changed except Eames had gotten a little thinner and her cuticles more ragged. At a loss for words, Ross smiled what he hoped she would see as a sympathetic smile, and turned to her partner.

Goren, by contrast, was a little heavier these days, something that Ross put down to the comfort and benefits of a steady relationship. It did, however, have the unfortunate effect of make him stand out even more – especially when he was pulling one of his stunts.

"Finished with the dramatics, Goren?"

Ross's tone was not unfriendly but he watched the blush spread across Goren's cheeks nonetheless. He waited for a moment as Goren fumbled for a reply, before putting him out of his misery.

"Probably not, but try not to distract the rest of us, eh? "

The laughter threatened again, especially when he heard Goren's hissed comment to Eames behind his retreating back.

"I told you, don't do that, not at work..."

The single desk just outside Ross's office was another new addition but the person who sat there wasn't. Jess Morgan had been one of the support staff tasked with the general administration generated by a busy police department, but now her duties were as his personal assistant, especially since her own particular talent had been recognised. Ross fished the Dictaphone out from his pocket and, after a bit of fiddling, he handed Jess the tape.

"Pay particular attention to the latest one, cross-check it against the others and do me a printout, will you?"

Finally reaching his destination, Ross hung up his coat before sinking into his chair. He sifted through the message slips Jess had placed on his desk, all clearly written with the time noted along with an indication of the urgency. He'd resisted the idea of a PA initially but he had to admit Jess made his life easier. Of most use was the way she collated the content of all of his visions, cross-referencing them for similarities, highlighting any overlaps. It eased the burden of his 'gift' somewhat.

One of the messages caught his eye. Dr Skoda. He'd made himself available to counsel those affected by the aftermath of the storm, more out of clinical curiosity, Ross thought uncharitably. Still he was a good shrink, had even managed to get Goren to see him for a couple of sessions without coercion. He might be needed today. Ross made a note to call him back after he'd spoken to Falacci, the premonition he'd experienced this morning was weighing on his mind. He looked up as the door opened.

Jess handed him the mug of coffee.

"Perfect! Just what I needed...but of course, you knew that."

Jess just smiled and he watched her leave, thinking how much she reminded him of a younger version of his mother, with her dark hair, slightly plump figure and unfussy nature. His mother had always seemed to know what he needed, too.

Ross sipped the coffee, feeling slightly better about the day, and wondered what Falacci wanted to talk to him about.


	3. Chapter 3

Nola Falacci watched Ross make his way across the squad room, her frustration mounting at every delay. Not that she was eager to talk to him; it was just that she wanted to get it over and done with.

She'd fucked up again.

Perhaps she was destined to be the department screw-up. It certainly wasn't Logan these days. The constant need for vigilance to prevent a trail of damage had made him a more measured and thoughtful man.

A piece of candy, propelled with surprising force, stung her cheek. He was still an idiot, though.

"Oww! You could've taken my eye out."

"Oops – sorry! Misjudged that."

There was something about Logan's smile that suggested he hadn't and, despite herself, Falacci laughed. Logan joined in.

"That's better – things were starting to get a bit warm around here."

Falacci looked down at the bucket of water beside her desk and, sure enough, there was steam rising from it. Months of anger management sessions with Skoda had made her a little more tolerant, but she still didn't cope well with being angry at herself. Her mouth formed into a moue of disgust.

"Hey, less of the pouting. At least it was only the bucket."

Since when had Logan become the voice of reason? Falacci watched as he hunched forward over the desk, inviting her confidence.

"What did you want to talk to Ross about? "

There was an edge of worry in his voice, and for an uncharitable moment, Falacci wondered what he'd been up to. A glance at the office revealed that Ross was settled with a mug of coffee. It was time. She rose, smoothing the wrinkles from her pants, and took a deep breath.

"I'll fill you in later."

Ross greeted her at the door and gestured for Falacci to take a seat, closing the door to afford them some privacy. After a moment's silence, she began.

"I think I've blown our cover."

Ross exhaled slowly.

"Tell me about it."

So Falacci did, the words halting at first then becoming a torrent. She told him of the late night run to the store to get milk for the kids' breakfast, of the sounds of disturbance from the alley by the side of the store, of the sight of an old man lying on the ground being kicked by three hooded figures. She told him of how she stood there for a moment, powerless because she hadn't strapped on her gun for a quick trip to the bodega and knowing a 911 call would summon help that would arrive too late.

"So I got mad."

Ross was aware of the implications behind that statement.

"How bad was it?"

Falacci shook her head.

"I don't know – the anger sort of took over. But they all ran off, so I didn't hurt them, just scared them. And the old man, well, he was a wino..."

Ross steepled his fingers and assessed the level of their exposure. There'd been nothing on the logs that morning, a group of terrified thugs that were probably druggies, and old man in his cups. Could be worse...

After the destruction of 1PP there'd been plenty of wild tales about feats of superhuman strength, of magical fire and of a couple seen hovering above the debris, unscathed, seemingly wrapped in a protective bubble. The Brass had been quick to quash the rumours and months of discussion and negotiations had followed.

Other people that worked at 1PP had come forward, admitting new and strange abilities and all affected had been adamant – they did not want to be branded as freaks. And they certainly didn't want to spend the rest of their lives as the subject of scientific study. Ross had argued hard, with some persuasive back-up from Goren, and the upshot had been that a new squad had been formed, incorporating them all. MCS had become SSD, specialising in apparently unsolvable and often peculiar crimes.

There were conditions. While they could use their abilities to solve and prevent crime, there still had to be a logical chain of evidence to present to the courts and the public. No one, bar a select few, must know their secret. For most that was not a problem, their talents were not obvious, but for someone like Falacci...

Ross studied the woman before him and noted the way she was avoiding looking at him, concentrating instead on picking invisible bits of lint from her sleeve. Something about her manner told him there was more on her mind than the incident in the alley.

"It'll be OK. I'll field any flak that arises. Tell me the rest of it."

Falacci lifted her head and Ross was stunned to see tears in her eyes. He could go toe to toe against Goren in one of his rages, could negotiate the minefield of politics that came with his role, could still take down a perp if necessary but a woman crying left him feeling helpless. That it was Falacci made it even worse –he was far more accustomed to her being ballsy.

Falacci swallowed hard and finally managed to blurt out;

"It's Steve, the kids. It's all getting too much."

Ross was at a loss. He knew how trying he found it sometimes when his boys came to stay, the lies he'd had to tell and how having Elizabeth's support helped. But dealing with three much younger children and a husband who didn't know... For someone with Falacci's temperament, the pressure must be unbearable. He thought of the devastation that had occurred when Eames had finally cracked and shuddered.

Falacci watched Ross rake his fingers through his hair and regretted her outburst. Lord knows he had enough on his own plate.

"Look, I know you can't fix this. I guess I just need to find some way of blowing off steam." She managed a laugh at the extra meaning that sentence held and continued more briskly. "I take it Skoda's still around?"

Ross nodded and tentatively threw out another suggestion.

"You could always try talking to Logan."

Falacci made a sceptical face and left the office, abruptly snatching the proffered Kleenex from Jess. Fucking woman! Why did she always _know_?

Ross watched Falacci leave, feeling a failure. He was not equipped to deal with the myriad issues that this department threw up. He seemed to lurch from one problem to the next without properly resolving any of them. He made a mental note to be alert for any indication of fire in future premonitions, concerned that the next time Falacci lost control someone would get hurt. It was a dreadful thought to consider and it would be damned difficult to keep out of the media.

But it was not Falacci who appeared on the news the next day - it was Goren.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning commuter train was, as usual, standing-room only and Detective Robert Goren was feeling decidedly claustrophobic. He hated the crush of stranger's bodies pressing against him and he hated the pressure of their thoughts crowding his brain. What made it even more miserable was that he could be sat in comfort and relative peace, cradling a fresh coffee and being driven to work by Alex if he could only learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Out!" Alex had ordered and her pointed finger and thinned lips were clear indications she meant it. The word echoed in his brain, demonstrating her thoughts and actions were in accord, and he'd silently gathered his clothes and left. Not for the first time. So much for celebrating their first anniversary in style.

He'd got off to a good start – knowing such occasions were important to her and booking a table at a quiet, intimate restaurant. Alex had looked beautiful in a stunning new dress that kissed all the curves he planned to kiss later and he told her so. That had prompted the beginning of the discord. While she accepted his compliment gracefully, he could _hear _that she believed she was overdressed and felt uncomfortable, and somehow that was his fault. Two conversations ran simultaneously as they chose food and wine, audible small talk and a running criticism that only he could hear.

_... Could have been somewhere fancier, it is our first anniversary after all... I like Italian food but puh-leeze... _

Goren had tried to explain the significance of his choice; that he'd been coming here for years, the family that owned it were like family to him, sharing his triumphs and troubles, and he'd wanted to her to be part of it, just as he was now included in Eames family gatherings. And, he had to admit, he'd wanted to show her off, wanted his surrogate family to be proud...

Alex had cut him off, the outrage making her voice harsh.

"Quit poking about in my head, Bobby!"

The unspoken words worried him more.

_... mustn't know, don't want to drive him away..._

The disturbance of the train arriving at the next stop brought Goren back into the present; the new passengers jostling for room. He tried to avoid eavesdropping but as the thoughts always came on a wave of strong emotion they were as hard to ignore as someone shouting in a library. Not all of them were unpleasant – the young woman to the right of him had had a very enjoyable night with the woman she had met in a bar and, attempting to block out thoughts that would have not been out of place on a pay-per-view channel in a seedy motel, Goren's mind inevitably turned back to Alex.

They'd ended up in bed - they always did. The chemistry was too strong; his telepathy meant he always knew how to please her, her telekinesis gave her extra ways to please him, and the shared emotions set up a feedback loop that meant, as well as knowing what she was feeling, he could project his own feelings to her. It was intoxicating and utterly addictive and they'd chased the high for months, helping to block out the guilt that Alex felt, helping to break down his emotional barriers.

Perhaps not the best thing to be thinking of on a crowded train. Goren cast his mind about the other passengers and a flash of a man's worries about his dying mother provided the mental equivalent of a cold shower. Something was worrying Alex, something she was trying to keep from him and he'd been clumsy in his attempts to find out.

Snuggled together, sweaty and sated, her guard had been down... and uppermost in her thoughts had been Joe. Hurt, he'd tried to broach the subject with her and all he'd got were further accusations of prying and his marching orders.

Goren sighed; the thoughts whirling around him proof that he was not alone in being troubled this morning. Fears for a wayward son, an anorexic daughter. Worries about the rent, about lay-offs, about promotion. A cross section of city life crammed in a subway car running the gamut of human emotion from love to hate, from hope to despair. Someone was even praying.

Praying? Goren had _heard _prayers at times of devotion, on deathbeds but never on the train. Curious, a little uneasy due to Alex's condemnation still ringing in his ears, he listened harder. The melodic lilt of Islamic prayer filled his head, the part of his brain that acquired random bits of knowledge like a magpie identifying it as Khawf; prayer for times of fear, prayer for the battlefield.

His own fear rising, Goren tried to seek out the source, finally locating an olive-skinned, dark eyed man sat squashed against the window, clutching a rucksack on his lap, knuckles white with the ferocity of his grip. Training, intuition and deduction collided in Goren's brain and he swung into action, shoving passengers aside as he forced his way through the crowd.

Goren was oblivious to their cries of complaint, focused entirely on his target. The man started, eyes widening in panic at the disturbance, at the sight of the huge man barrelling his way towards him. He reached into the bag.

A large hand clamped down on his. The voice in his ear was soft, surprisingly so considering the power that seemed to emanate from this giant.

"Easy now..."

Goren straightened, careful not to loosen his grip, and addressed the crowd. The authority in his voice and the sight of a badge and gun quickly had the occupants clearing the car as they were instructed, one of them pulling the cord to stop the train on his way out. Carefully Goren pulled out his phone and made the call.

A flurry of activity followed and it was not until the would-be suicide bomber was more securely detained and the bomb defused that Goren relaxed enough to become aware of his surroundings. Along the edge of the cordon set up by the police utter chaos reigned. Various news crews jostled for prime position, thrusting out their cameras and microphones in an attempt to get the best footage or a quote from the hero of the hour while other were making do with eye witness accounts from his fellow passengers, eager for their fifteen minutes of fame.

Heart sinking, Goren made another call.

"Er, Captain – I think you'd better get down here..."

* * *

The image on the television screen showed a neat, trim man with greying curls and lively eyes. Behind him a much larger man shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, and in the background the flashing lights of numerous emergency vehicles reflected off the windows of a train carriage. All that could be seen of the female news reporter was her hand holding out the microphone.

"Eye witnesses report that there was nothing suspicious about the young man. What tipped you off, Detective Goren?"

The large man leaned forward about to speak, but the smaller man got there first.

"Ah, Detective Goren is a highly experienced officer with a military background who has received extensive training in observational skills and reading body language. He was therefore able to read signals that would have been unnoticeable to the average man on the street."

"Is this training typical of a member of the Special Services Division? And exactly what Special Services do you provide?"

The eyes of the smaller man seemed to harden. "We are a team of specialists with varied expertise who support the NYPD to protect and serve the citizens of this city. That will be all. Good day."

Abruptly the speaker turned, taking hold of the larger man's arm and they marched out of shot. The camera panned back to reveal a well-groomed blonde who addressed the audience.

"That was Captain Ross of the newly formed Special Services Division, who proved their worth today when one of their team, Detective Robert Goren, foiled a suicide bomb-"

The screen went blank with a fizz and a pop as a well- aimed baseball shattered the glass.


	5. Chapter 5

A flotilla of paperclips whirled around Alex Eames' head as she sat at her desk. Sometimes the mental manipulation of objects around her was a form of meditation. She would watch a piece of paper lazily spin and could feel the tension drain away. Other times it was just plain fun. Bobby's reaction to her invisible fingers giving him a very intimate squeeze in the bullpen yesterday ensured a repeat performance.

Not today.

It hadn't taken long for the news to reach the squad room, for Eames' burden of guilt and worry to increase and for the paperclips to begin to swarm. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jess studying her intently.

"Tea?"

Eames looked up to see Falacci waiting for a reply. Tea would be good; it'd be something to do and would get her out of here. She rose, grabbing her purse.

"You might want to - er..."

Falacci pointed at her head. It took a moment for Eames to grasp her meaning before she gathered the paperclips into a ball and parked them neatly on her desk, her hands remaining still. Falacci watched, fascinated.

"It still gets me every time you do that."

Small talk occupied them as they made their way to the canteen and Eames was grateful for the distraction. She wasn't particularly close to Falacci but they shared a bond, nonetheless. Both were all too aware how devastating a loss of control could be. Standing in the line to pay for their drinks it was hard to avoid the TV on the wall. It was tuned to the news channel. They watched for a moment as Ross plied his bullshit and Goren tried but failed to fade into the background behind him.

"Your man is a hero but you look like he died. What gives?"

Eames sighed as she paid for their tea, waving away Falacci's proffered coins.

"It's a fucking mess." She lowered her voice so she would not be overheard. "One minute I think this is the best thing that ever happened to us, the next – I'm not so sure."

"Do you mean the squad? Or..?" Falacci nodded her head towards the TV which was now showing a still of Goren as the voice- over gave a recap of the morning's events.

"Take your pick. Bobby's not easy at the best of times but since -" Eames broke off, feeling she was being disloyal. "It's just so fucking complicated, even at work." She looked up at the screen again. "Especially at work. We're all on a knife edge, how long before one of us falls?"

Preoccupied with their individual fears and worries, they finished their tea in silence.

Eames hadn't been back at her desk long before she was disturbed by the sound of raised voices.

"What was I supposed to do? Let him blow everyone up?"

Bobby!

Eames rushed over, ignoring Ross to deliver a resounding slap to Goren's cheek before enveloping him in a fierce hug. To hell with appearances! The squad all knew, anyway. A brief confused pause and then she felt his arms around her. She could have spoken, but she didn't need to; she just let her mind fill with the mixture of worry, fear, guilt, frustration, pride and love that had been churning all morning. He squeezed her a little tighter before they broke apart at the sound of Ross' voice.

"As I was about to say, I'm not questioning your motive, it's just –" Ross' face turned white and it was only Goren's quick reactions that prevented him crashing to the floor. As Goren eased Ross' unconscious body down, Eames yelled for someone to get Rodgers before realising Jess was already making the call.

Ross was quick to come round. He shook off protestations and offers of help as he sought through the concerned cluster of squad members that had gathered. His eyes lit on Eames, and although his voice was weak, it held a note of urgency.

"Get down to Mount Sinai. There's a man on the roof - he's going to jump." Ross closed his eyes, concentrating . "And, Eames... He's got a kid with him."

Eames didn't stop to question him; any premonition that hit that hard and fast demanded urgent action. She rushed to the elevator and was surprised to find that it was Logan who joined her there.

"Where's Bobby?"

"Cap'n thought it best if he kept a low profile, so you got me."

The ride to the hospital was tense. Eames drove, glad that Logan hadn't argued. She was feeling uneasy. Bobby was one of the best at talking someone down and after all these years she knew his cues. Logan was a good cop but she'd never been in this kind of situation with him. The zipper on her jacket slid up and down in time to the flap of the sun visor.

"So what did you do to Goren to make him jump like that?"

Eames turned to fix Logan with a stare, but it was hard to maintain at the sight of his infectious leer.

"What's it to you?" A nasty suspicion crossed her mind." Are you taking bets?"

"Eyes on the road! Jeez." Logan gripped the dash as the SUV swerved to avoid a parked delivery van. "You can't deny human nature... Speculation's rife."

"In that case, I want a cut."

The rest of the journey was spent in a jocular negotiation of percentages and went a long way to dispel the tension they were both feeling.

Hospital security staff met them when Eames and Logan arrived at Mount Sinai. Briefed on the phone by Ross, they were quick to show the detectives the best route to the roof. Eames took charge.

"Keep behind us. We don't want the sight of uniforms to startle him."

The access door to the roof wouldn't open despite evidence showing the lock was busted. Eames looked at Logan then nodded towards the door. He hesitated.

"What if the noise panics him?"

"What if he jumps while we stand here debating?"

With no further delay, Logan applied his shoulder to the door. Wood splintered as the doorframe was ripped from its surrounding brickwork and Logan almost fell out onto the roof.

"Stay back!"

The command came from a skinny sandy-haired man clutching a toddler in his arms. The child was bawling and struggling to get free as the man climbed onto the parapet.

"I mean it. Don't try to stop me!"

There was no desperation in his voice, only determination. Eames once more wished Bobby was here before steeling herself as Logan took a step forward, hand held out in a placatory manner.

"Listen, son –"

That was all it took. The man spun round and jumped, taking the child with him. Eames was ready. She reached out with her mind, feeling the wrenching in her head as she caught hold of them. It was one thing to let loose in rage and pain, quite another to direct and control the power, to avoid crushing those she was trying to save. Her voice was taut with the strain.

"Quick, Logan!"

Logan hurried over to the spot where the man had jumped, leaned over the parapet to see the man and the toddler suspended in mid-air. The man's eyes were wide with shock and confusion. They were just within reach. Logan leaned over a little further; one hand gripping the man's, the other catching hold of the toddler's forearm. With apparent ease, he hauled them back onto the safety of the roof.

Eames gathered up the child – a little boy – into her arms as Logan cuffed the man and called out the all-clear to the security staff. Fortunately they had obeyed Eames' instructions and had remained out of sight. They had not witnessed the rescue. Keeping one hand on the now despondent detainee, Logan tentatively peered over the parapet again.

"Uh, Eames..."

Eames was updating Ross. She snapped shut the phone and joined Logan, keeping a tight grip on the boy who was now asleep; like all children, he had shut down after an overload of extreme emotion. It was a giddying distance down to the street below, but the crowd that had gathered were clear enough. Many were stood in the characteristic pose of someone taking photographs. Eames turned, and leaned back on the low wall.

"Oh fuck! Ross is going to blow a gasket..."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N – My apologies for not updating this story at my usual breakneck pace. I write in several arenas and have not yet mastered the art of cloning. Rest assured, I never abandon a story nor will a week pass without a new chapter. Forgive my intrusion, let's continue..._

Ross blinked and his vision cleared to reveal the members of SSD looking at him with a mixture of concern and anticipation. He held up his hand in a silent signal 'Wait' and fumbled for the Dictaphone.

"Bodies on the sidewalk, panic and confusion. Somewhere in the financial district – possibly around Broad Street, I thought I saw the Stock Exchange in the background. Soon –judging from the blossom on the trees. "

Signing off with the time and date, he replaced the Dictaphone in his pocket and swallowed down the bile in his throat. Jess slid a glass of water across the polished wood of the table. Ross took a large grateful swallow and continued.

"Now where... ah, yes! Hot on the heels of Goren's stint in the limelight, we have this..." Ross waved an arm towards the screen on the wall of the conference room. It was showing a montage of blurred video footage and indistinct photographs, captioned by people who aspired to write for the National Enquirer. This time Ross raised his hand to halt Eames' protestations.

"I'm not denying the results but the Brass are getting twitchy. You know they're looking for an excuse to pull the plug on this whole enterprise- "

"Who gives a fuck about what a few suits think. They don't have to live with –"

Ross cut across Falacci's outburst before the temperature in the room got any hotter, literally.

"No, they don't. But we do. Do you think it'll get any easier if 'enquiring minds' like these..." He waved again at the screen. "..._knew. _And let's not forget the scientists and researchers."

Aware that he was raising his voice, Ross paused to take another drink of water. He looked around the room. Eames was sat with her back straight; tension evident in her tight shoulders and the spoon that stirred her tea with grim determination, despite her folded hands. Goren, by contrast, was slouched back in his chair and his eyes had an unfocused look. Ross was not deceived, he knew Goren too well.

Tiggs was doodling frantically in his notebook with a pinched look on his pale face and Jeffries was shifting uneasily in his chair. He looked a bit lost without Petronelli, who was back in the bullpen deploying his own particular talents looking after the child rescued from the roof. Logan was sat astride a reversed chair that would soon be a stool if he carried on gripping the back so tightly. Next to him Falacci radiated such stress that Ross checked the location of the nearest fire extinguisher. Even the usually unflappable Jess was showing signs of distress as her eyes darted around the room.

Ross leaned forward and folded his hands, unconsciously mimicking Eames.

"So ...thoughts? Ideas?"

After a moment's pause, they all started talking at once.

* * *

The same montage was playing across another screen. A hand slammed the laptop lid shut and picked up a baseball. Tossing the ball from hand to hand the figure, shrouded in smoke and shadows, stopped seething and began to scheme.

* * *

Ross called a halt to the bitch and gripe fest the discussion had devolved into.

"Logan, you were saying?"

"Well, it seems to me that we're stuck in the old ways. "

"That's rich coming from a dinosaur like you!"

At Eames' harsh interjection Goren seemed to wake up, and for the first time since the meeting began, appeared worried. Ross wondered if he was responding to the sharp edge in Eames' voice or something else he had 'heard'. There was no clue in Goren's words as he weighed into the argument.

"No, Logan's right. "

The look Eames shot him was pure poison and Ross found himself checking for falling masonry. Goren ploughed on regardless.

"We're still reacting like cops first and, uh – Talents – second."

Talents. That was a good description. Ross made a note to adopt the term. It was a hell of a lot better than mutant or freak. The team was quiet as they mulled over Goren's words. Jeffries broke the silence.

"Call for you, Captain. Line three. It's Dispatch."

As one they turned to look at the phone and sure enough it began to ring. Ross shook his head and was not surprised to hear the brisk voice of one of the radio dispatchers on the line. He noticed Jess was already gathering up the empty cups and glasses as he listened. He replaced the receiver.

"Meeting's over. We've got a DB on Wall Street; some stockbroker's rung the closing bell. Locals are reporting it looks odd. Logan and Falacci, you get over there."

Goren looked a bit peeved but brightened as Ross continued.

"Eames, you and Goren have a crack at that dad, find out why he decided to take his boy on a trip to the afterlife. And Jeffries, chase up Child Services or we'll never get any work out of Petronelli today."

The room erupted into a bustle of activity as belongings were gathered, jackets were donned and the team headed off to their respective tasks. Goren held open the door for Eames, who pointedly refused to acknowledge the courtesy - and Jess, who didn't. Jeffries was already on the phone. Falacci still looked strained as she pulled her hair back into a pony tail and Logan couldn't resist a parting joke as he left.

"Guess I get to show off some more, eh?"

Ross failed to rise to the bait, he was too preoccupied. A peculiar death in Wall Street. He thought of his recent premonitions. No, the dispatcher had said only one deceased. Unable to shake off the uneasy feeling, he headed to his office to check the records of his other visions.

He didn't notice the figure still left at the table scribbling furiously. Nobody paid any attention to Tiggs.


	7. Chapter 7

Ric Petronelli ducked his head to avoid the swipe from a banana-smeared hand. The boy chuckled and made another attempt to grab at his nose. It was good to see him laugh. Petronelli gazed into the dancing blue eyes, amazed at what he could_ feel_. His gift may not be spectacular or have the potential to save lives but the rapport he had with children, animals and, occasionally, people with dementia or low IQ brought him a great deal of pleasure. The best thing of all was the depth it brought to his relationship with Lucas.

As usual he smiled at the thought of his child, the first of many he hoped. No, he didn't want to get involved with staff meetings and policies and the like. He was content with his family life and a job that meant he could help people. The looks on the faces of the rest of the squad as they returned from the meeting confirmed his opinion.

Eames strode past, stone-eyed. She left a wake of minor disturbances in the furniture as she made her way to her desk. Goren looked serious but less tense, only the slam of his leather binder on the desk betraying his feelings. Jess paused to pass Petronelli a Wet Wipe before retrieving some papers from the printer and placing them on the captain's desk.

Wiping the boy's sticky fingers, Petronelli watched Ross march by like a man on a mission and looked up at Jeffries, the last to arrive.

"Where's Falacci and Logan?"

Jeffries covered the mouthpiece of the phone he was holding to his ear.

"Got a shout over on Wall Street. Hello...yes, I'm still here."

Jeffries returned his attention to the call and Petronelli again focused on the toddler. Nope, he'd not trade places with any of his colleagues, not if it meant giving up this.

* * *

Goren rifled through the paperwork; he was trying to get up to speed on the case before going to interview the father but the vortex of paperclips was an annoying distraction.

"Quit it! Ya got something to say?"

"Why don't you just read my mind? You always do!"

Eames stormed off towards the interview room, slamming a couple of locker doors on the way. Goren sighed, picked up his binder and hurried after her.

* * *

"I think 'odd' may be an understatement."

Logan and Falacci were in the gloomy entrance to an underground parking garage. At first glance, nothing had seemed unusual. The crime scene tape, the clusters of onlookers, the uniformed men and women moving about with purpose, even the corpse wearing an expensive suit lying in the middle of the ramp were unfortunately commonplace in the world of a cop. It was not until the one of the Homicide detectives from the 1st precinct had shone his flashlight on the corpse's face that the reason they had been called became clear. The sight had prompted a 'Huh?' from Falacci and Logan's comment.

Logan grabbed the flashlight and squatted down beside the dead man for a closer look. He took his pen from his pocket and tentatively touched the corpse's face. Falacci grimaced.

"Just 'cos you got partnered with Eames, doesn't mean you have to go all Goren on me."

Logan flicked her a quick smile, straightened and studied the dead man. He had seen many dead bodies over the years and they had come in a multitude of hues. There were the natural variations of skin colour, of course but also the cherry-red bloom of carbon monoxide poisoning, scarlet lividity and fresh smears of ruby-rich blood. Dried blood could be rusty brown or coffee-ground black, mould and putrefaction turned the skin various shades of green and bruises ran the spectrum from acid yellow though to violent purple. Adipocere was waxy cream, jaundice provided a golden tinge, fire and advanced decay blackened even the fairest of skin.

Logan had seen them all but he'd never seen an orange corpse before.

* * *

Eames took a deep breath and tried to shove her irritation aside. This man had tried to kill his child. She needed to keep her wits about her.

An expired driving license revealed the man to be Sean Lafferty, a 34 year old resident of Alphabet City. Despite the notorious reputation of photographs on driving licenses, Lafferty looked much worse than his picture. He'd lost about thirty pounds since it had been taken, weight he could ill- afford to lose. The thinning sandy hair was now even sparser over his forehead and sunken eyes stared blankly above hollowed cheek bones.

He'd declined counsel with a whisper and had not spoken since. The coffee in front of him was untouched. He seemed barely aware of his surroundings. Eames got the impression that Lafferty had already died in his mind, his body just hadn't got the message. If that was the case, she could understand the suicide attempt but to take his son, Aiden, as well?

She waited for Goren to settle with his binder open before him. Her pointed interview style may well pierce many a facade but she suspected today they would need a more delicate touch. Goren's skill at divining motivations, his innate empathy combined with his ability to read minds just might be the key to get Lafferty to open up.

But he'd only succeed if she didn't distract him with her anxieties.

* * *

"You ever seen anything like that?"

Falacci shook her head.

"The colour was bad enough but the gunk – ugh!"

She shuddered at the memory of the string of slime that had clung to Logan's pen. Perhaps Rodgers would be able to provide an explanation, if not scientifically then by using her other talent. The only witness – a minimum wage security guard – had been no help. According to him the deceased had appeared normal as he walked down the ramp, then had staggered and collapsed. By the time the guard had got to him he was already dead – and orange.

"Fuck!"

Logan's exclamation came hot on the heels of the clatter of dropped keys and Falacci watched as he lifted the car out of the way to more easily reach the keys that had rolled under it.

"You shouldn't do that – you know what the captain said..."

"Think I'm going to get these fancy duds dirty?"

Logan grinned as he fingered the lapel of his blazer then his face took on a more serious expression as he leaned on the roof of the car.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"What? No!"

"Not the captain – Steve."

Sometimes Falacci forgot that under Logan's casual attitude and jokey manner lay a perceptive and experienced detective.

"You should. Ross has got Rodgers , and vice versa. Same for Goren and Eames. Me, I couldn't keep something like that hidden so it's for the best I'm a bachelor. But you... you've got the kids an' everything."

Falacci didn't miss the note of sadness that hid behind Logan's words, but it was eclipsed by the sense of relief she felt to have her instinct to confide in Steve confirmed.

* * *

"It was persecution!"

Goren had worked his usual magic and Lafferty had eventually opened up to reveal the damage a vengeful ex-wife and her rich new husband could wreak, especially when aided by a skillful advocate.

"Bobby, the lawyer might have been unscrupulous but there's no evidence that-"

"Then let's find some."

Eames shook her head and several law books on the shelf of the observation room toppled over. She didn't need any special gift to know that Goren was about to embark on one of his crusades. Casting a final glance through the one-way mirror at the pitiful figure now sipping cold coffee with tears running down his face, Eames chased after Goren.

At least a crusade would distract him from poking about in her head. She hoped.


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Steve's voice was harsh and loud. Too loud. Falacci hushed him, conscious of the kids sleeping upstairs.

"Don't shush me! After an evening of the usual domestic chaos that passes for happy families round here, my wife suddenly announces she has magical powers and you expect me to be quiet?"

Falacci had to admit the timing wasn't perfect. The Junior Craft Club had been cancelled and Steve had to cut short a meeting with an important client to pick up the kids because she was at the crime scene. When she'd arrived home she'd found him trying to referee a dispute between the boys while consoling their youngest who had fallen out with her best friend. Dinner had been burned due to the discovery that the goldfish had died and bedtime had been a strained affair involving much discussion about the afterlife and funeral arrangements.

It had been tempting to just sink back on the sofa with a glass of wine and let the moment pass but there was no guarantee that tomorrow would be any easier and Falacci was not one to back out from a decision... or a fight.

"You've no idea what it's been like, hiding this from you. No-one's supposed to know, no-one outside the department."

"Do you know how crazy you sound? How paranoid and delusional? First thing, I'm phoning that shrink you've been seeing. PTSD, my ass!"

"It's all true. I'll prove it."

Falacci didn't have to look hard to find the anger she needed. A small flame appeared on her outstretched palm and rapidly grew to form a ball of fire about a foot in diameter. Steve reeled back, stumbling over the coffee table to land on the sofa with a thump, and a squeak from an abandoned toy. His eyes were wide and wild.

She took a step towards him and he scrabbled back further along the sofa.

"Get away from me, you...you ..._Freak_!"

Reluctantly Falacci extinguished the flame. It felt so good to _burn _but it was not helping the situation. She moved aside Barbie and a Power Ranger entwined in a plastic embrace and sat on the sofa, not liking the fear and horror on Steve's face. This was the real reason she had kept quiet; the department's decree had merely been a convenient excuse. But Logan was right, she needed Steve on her side or she was going to crack up. She attempted to explain, to make Steve see that she was still the woman he married despite this new wrinkle. Steve refused to look at her and he flinched every time she moved her hands. Falacci fell silent and waited, twisting the golden locks of the doll between her fingers. When he finally spoke there was an edge of spite in his tone.

"So it's all been a lie? 1PP, the new department, the shrink sessions? What were you doing? You and your happy little band of freaks. Planning on how you were going to take over the world?"

Falacci was on her feet again, her earlier caution about not waking the kids abandoned.

"I have been seeing a shrink! But not for PTSD, I needed to learn how to control my temper or-"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realised her mistake. Steve was now on his feet as well, anger overcoming his fear.

"Or what? You'll burn the house down? You'll hurt the kids? My God, Nola!"

Falacci could see Steve mentally reviewing the past year, cataloguing every time the smoke alarm had sounded, the lingering smell of extinguished candles, the occasional charred object found in the trash, his suspicions that one of his boys was a budding arsonist. He turned his back on her and stared out of the window at the darkened street below.

"Steve, I've never... I wouldn't..." Her words sounded weak, even to herself. Steve's reply was low and laden with a sense of finality.

"Get out. Pack a bag and get out. I don't want you near me or the kids ever again."

Bag packed, kids kissed and Falacci stepped out into the night. A neighbour's car exploded, several trash cans caught fire and an abandoned warehouse began to burn as she made her way down the street.

* * *

Goren was surprised to find Falacci in the bull pen when he arrived. He was usually the first in – unless he'd been with Eames. This was not one of those mornings. She'd blown him off last night, pleading an incipient headache and the need for an early night. Goren had been thankful for the distance created by a phone that meant he didn't have to see her face or hear her thoughts as she lied.

Dumping his coat and binder, he headed for the coffee pot; the first port of call in his morning ritual. He was all too aware of the silent scream radiating from Falacci "_... the fucking bastard...how dare he?... bastard, motherf-" _ and, thinking of Eames, decided it was prudent to keep quiet. He offered her a coffee and watched in alarm as it began to boil furiously as he set the mug in front of her. Goren opened his mouth to speak, but Falacci beat him to it.

"Just fuck off, Goren. Put your own house in order."

Backing off hastily, Goren grabbed the crime sheets from the printer and retreated to his desk. The logs recording all the incidents that had occurred overnight were the next part of his routine; he found studying them, trying to find links and patterns, coupled with the caffeine kicked his brain into the right gear to begin work.

It was not working this morning. Falacci's anger coupled with her relentless obscenity-laden diatribe was too much of a distraction. He shifted in his chair, reshuffled the papers and tried to focus. Not much of interest – the usual mix of muggings, mayhem and murder rendered seemingly trivial by a few lines of printed text. One item caught his attention. A spate of arson attacks in Soundview. Wasn't that where..?

Goren glanced over at Falacci who returned his look with a stare that dared him to comment. He was disconcerted to find that he was now included in her mental rant.

" _...fucking nosy parker...son of a bitch should sort out his own business instead of poking his nose in mine...fucking useless men ... they just don't get it... bastards..."_

She was right. He didn't get it. It was all very well using his Talent to blow open a case but in the minefield of the day-to-day, especially with Eames, his big feet and big mouth seemed to set off detonations at random. He thought on this, to the soundtrack of Falacci's silent seething, and by the time the squad room filled up and Eames had arrived, Goren was in a foul mood.


	9. Chapter 9

Eames rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor and dithered for a moment in the hall. There were shadows under her eyes and her shoulders sagged briefly as she chewed on her lip. A cheery greeting and a searching look from Jess prompted her into action. Damn – it was as hard to hide things from Jess as it was from Bobby. Eames pretended to search her purse before waving her keys triumphantly. Hopefully that would keep the nosy cow happy.

No sign of Bobby but his coat was on the peg. Eames stowed her purse in the desk drawer, set her shoulders and went in search of her partner. She found him hunched over a pile of folders in one of the glass-walled offices that offered some peace, if not privacy. He didn't look up as she entered; that was not unusual if he was lost in concentration. She slid into the chair beside him.

"Hi."

Goren flicked her a quick nod and resumed reading.

"Bobby... we need to talk."

He looked up.

"Lafferty's affairs are a mess. He was being got at from all directions. There's the -"

"Not about the case, Bobby. About us."

Goren closed the folder and leaned forward on folded arms.

"Go on. Talk."

Eames didn't like the sharp edge in his voice and she felt her resolution falter. A pen rose from the table and began to twirl.

"Not here, after work."

Goren slammed the pen back down, making her start.

"Since when did being at work matter? You drag our personal life in here on a daily basis."

Belatedly, Eames realised Bobby hadn't been lost in paperwork; he'd been stoking one of his high-horse temper tantrums. True to form, he'd gone straight for the sore spot.

"Are you saying I lack boundaries, Mr Mind Reader?"

There was venom in her tone and the white board made a teeth-on-edge screech as it scraped along the floor.

"It wasn't me who got all pissy in the staff meeting." Goren was on his feet, towering over Eames. "And I don't embarrass you for a cheap laugh."

Eames was now on her feet too and it wasn't just one chair that toppled back with the abrupt action.

"Since when have you been bothered about your reputation? You used to be more fun."

"Since you decided it was OK to slap me in front of the whole squad!" The whiteboard twisted and fell to the floor with a crash. "AND LEAVE THE FUCKING FURNITURE ALONE!"

"You'd rather I do this?" Goren found himself being lifted off the floor. "Or this?" He was slammed back against the glass wall then dropped unceremoniously. The files he'd been studying erupted into a blizzard of paper before gently floating down to lay on the floor around him. Eames stormed out of the office into the audience they'd attracted.

"What are you gaping at? You wanna be next?"

Unsurprisingly, the gathering quickly scrammed.

Logan turned away from the entertaining spectacle of Goren getting his ass handed to him by a woman less than half his size and discovered Falacci was the only one not enjoying a bit of schadenfreude. He noted her clenched jaw and the almost empty bucket and grabbed his coat. He nodded towards the elevator.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

"You told him, huh?"

Falacci ignored Logan and turned to take in her surroundings. Rough scrubby brown grass fought for space with large pools of stagnant water. Clumps of twisted bushes, abandoned cars and several dead trees obscured the chain-link fence that surrounded the lot. A derelict factory cast its shadow over piles of rubbish, in turn overshadowed by the overpass. She wrinkled her nose.

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"Used to get called here a lot in the old days. Prime dumping ground for a stolen car – or a dead body. Place used to be a chemical plant 'til it got busted by the EPA, now folks don't hang about 'cos of the smell and the fear of being poisoned."

"Understandable - but what are _we_ doing here? We've got work-"

"Plenty of water, no witnesses, nothing of value. Makes it a good spot for a bonfire... if you catch my drift."

Falacci did. For the first time since she'd left home, she smiled.

* * *

Goren had hauled himself off the floor, glared at the stragglers hoping for an encore and was trying to reassemble the files that had ended up strewn about the room. Well, Eames wasn't going to be much help with unpicking Lafferty's financial mess. He rubbed his shoulder and stalked off to find Tiggs.

* * *

"Woohoo!"

A large tree stump soared into the air, burst into flames before crashing to the ground amid scattered and smouldering debris. Logan grinned, flexed his arms and headed towards an old Honda that lacked wheels and a side door.

"Now for the grand finale!"

Squatting, he tipped the car up on to its nose, adjusted his grip and lifted it above his head. He paused a moment – Atlas in rolled-up shirtsleeves and a tie.

"Ready?"

At Falacci's nod, he launched the car skyward with a grunt. Seconds later there was a loud whoosh, followed by a bang as the car exploded. Burning debris rained down. Logan grabbed his jacket from the old fence post where it hung and began to roll down his sleeves. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone.

"_Now _we can get to work."

Falacci's eyes were as bright as Logan's and her arms swung loosely as they made their way back to the car. They made the journey to Police Plaza in a comfortable silence, that was interrupted only once when Falacci spoke, in a voice so quiet she was barely audible above the cheerful tune playing on the radio.

"Thanks, Mike."

* * *

Tiggs wasn't hard to find. As usual, he was hunched over his computer; his back to the room because his desk faced the wall. Goren marched over, still smarting from his run-in with Eames, and without preamble dumped a pile of folders on the desk with a loud thump. Tiggs jumped.

"Take a look at that lot. Tell me what the hell's going on with this guy."

Goren paused. Tiggs was cowering, his eyes darting about nervously and his thoughts reached Goren's brain on a wave of fear.

" _... don't pick on me... leave me alone...god, he's scary when he's pissed...go away...he mustn't find out..."_

Goren leaned over to the right and succeeded in getting Tiggs to focus on him. Such a squirrelly little man – sometimes it was just too easy... He raised his eyebrows and injected a note of casualness into his voice.

"Mustn't find out what, eh?"

Tiggs looked as if he was about to pee in his pants. Goren leaned closer. Tiggs' chinos were saved by the ring of a cell phone.

With a huff of annoyance, Goren checked the screen and answered the call. He listened intently for a moment.

"Yeah, well, it's a bit late now... Do what you've gotta do...Donovan's at six? Do I need body armour?"

Goren became aware of Tiggs listening and scowled. Tiggs swung round and began to scribble numbers on his notepad.

"Listen, Eames – "

The line had gone dead. With fresh concerns to fret about, Goren forgot Tiggs and headed for his desk.

Tiggs let out the breath he'd been holding and leaned back. He toyed with his pencil as he swivelled the chair from side to side. A hard, cold look crept into his face and the pencil snapped between his fingers.


	10. Chapter 10

"I'd have paid money to see that!"

Rodgers' laugh died as she saw the look on Ross' face.

"It's not funny, Elizabeth. I've got Falacci on the verge of blowing the place up, Eames throwing about two hundred pound men like they were rag dolls, the press are sniffing around and what am I doing?"

Before she could answer, Ross continued.

"I'm stuck in my office in the grip of one premonition after another. And the times between, I'm too disorientated to focus or I'm wading through Jess' reports trying to make some sense of it all before someone dies."

He stepped a little closer to Rodgers and laid his forehead on her shoulder. Rodgers' hands were full of viscera so she couldn't give him the hug he so obviously needed. She made do with resting her head on his. Thankfully they were alone so there were no witnesses to this softer side of the usually intimidating M.E.

"Are they getting worse?"

"Yes, and there's no common link – just this awful sense of doom. One minute I'm looking at a baseball spinning in the air, then at that kid Logan and Eames rescued. Which is odd because he's safe now. Then there's all these numbers swarming around, bodies dropping on Wall Street and to cap it all, everything's tinted orange. How the hell am I supposed to make sense of it?"

Ross stepped back and wiped his face with his hand.

"Orange, you say?"

Ross nodded.

"Come take a look at this."

Rodgers parked the organs in a metal dish and stripped off her bloody gloves. Taking care not to touch the corpse, she sidestepped around it and made her way towards the cold store. Ross followed, puzzled, and watched as she pulled back the blue cloth covering a body on one of the trolleys. An orange body.

"Came in yesterday - Logan and Falacci's case. I haven't got to it yet 'cos of a rush job from the two-seven, and Logan didn't want any other ME on it. It's first on my list tomorrow. "

Ross grimaced at the sight of the orangeade-coloured corpse and the way strings of slime had clung to the sheet as Rodgers pulled it back.

"If he's dead, why am I still _seeing_ orange? It's like that kid... Oh, hell. I need a drink. Join me after..?"

Ross waved his hand in the general direction from which they'd come. Rodgers agreed; silently resolving to do the fastest autopsy she could get away with.

* * *

Donovan's Bar tried to evoke an 'olde worlde' feel with its dark polished wood, shining brass accents and studded red leatherette seating. The interior was dim, despite the late afternoon sun, and there were few customers. The atmosphere was quiet but not quiet enough for Goren, sat at the bar with one foot resting on the brass rail. He was working on remedying the situation by consuming Glenlivet as fast as the bartender would pour it. Alcohol muted what he could _hear _and by the time six o'clock rolled around the thoughts of the few other occupants in the bar were drowned out by a rather pleasant buzz.

Eames paused, her hand still on the smooth curved brass door handle of the bar. After a curt message left for the captain advising him she was taking some personal time, she'd fled for the refuge of her sister's house. Playing with Nate had eased her tension and during his afternoon nap, the earnest conversation with Liz had helped clarify the jumbled thoughts and feelings that had kept her awake last night. Hard truths, harder decisions and now the hardest thing of all. Eames braced her shoulders and wrenched open the bar door.

* * *

Several streets away and light years in tone, flashing red neon lights proclaimed "BAR – POOL- SPORTS ." Inside, a crowd cheered in response to the touchdown being shown on the widescreen TV. A rock anthem blared from the juke box and Nigel Tiggs had to raise his voice to be heard.

"Do this, do that. Never a please or thank you. They only ever notice me when they want something done."

He paused to take a swig of beer.

"And I'm the one who had to move. I had a quiet little office but no, everyone has to be in the same room. Except Rodgers – not enough money to move her stuff. 'Course, sleeping with the boss doesn't hurt."

The sports fans shouted for a fresh round and the bartender seized the opportunity to escape. Tiggs fell silent and began to pick at the label on the beer bottle as numbers swam around him.

_... 12 fl oz... 5% alcohol... 145 calories..._

He didn't need to read the label to know such things. The bartender returned to fill several mugs with draft lager, trying to avoid catching Tigg's eye. More numbers:

_...5'11"... 15"collar... 32" inside leg... 347-555-0734..._

... social security number, bank card number, PIN number – Tiggs knew every number linked to the guy, and if he chose to, for everyone in the room. He'd know the alarm code for the bar's security systems and the combination to the safe in the back office if he cared to look. Everything except the damned lottery numbers that Logan kept on about - they were not integral, fixed or programmed.

Tiggs had always loved numbers. He loved their patterns and predictability. But things had changed since the storm, since he'd been wrenched from his cosy safe little life of just him and his mom and his quiet little office. He tried to cope with the sheer volume of data that surrounded him by recording and cataloguing the numbers.

He had to admit he'd been naive; it wasn't until his mom's hypochondria had extended to include several 'illnesses' that the insurance refused to cover that he realised what a goldmine he was sitting on... It had only been a little bit here and there at first, from people or places who could afford it but his mom's 'treatments' were getting more and more expensive. His resentment and guilt coupled with the fear of being caught, especially when Goren was about, was giving him an ulcer.

The barman was back and trapped within earshot by the need to empty the dishwasher.

"They don't get it. I could take them down, every last one of them. I could clean them out. See 'em try and ignore me then. See 'em try to push ME about."

Tiggs' ears had gone red and he was on the verge of shouting, his words a little slurred due to the unaccustomed effect of the beer. He didn't pay any attention to the man shrouded in cigar smoke who was thoughtfully playing with a baseball in his hand as he listened. This time the baseball did not smash into the TV, tempting though it was as the favourites were playing so badly. No, this time the man laid the baseball on the bar and gave it a little push.

Tiggs watched, slightly bemused, as the baseball rolled along the bar towards him. Without thinking, he held out a hand to catch it. The owner of the ball slid off his stool and came over. Gently he took the ball from Tiggs' hand and smiled.

"Seems like you're under-appreciated, son. Let's talk – I think we've got mutual interests."

Tiggs looked into grey-blue eyes full of fatherly kindness and trust and felt a sudden swell of emotion. Here's a man who _knew_, a man who recognised his worth, a man he could depend upon. He stood a little straighter and puffed up his chest. An intense feeling of loyalty washed over him. He'd do anything for this man, he'd lay down his life for him...

A grin of satisfaction spread across the man's face. He slapped Tiggs on the back, chomped down on his cigar and hollered at the barman.

"Scotch, please – and another beer for my good friend here!"


	11. Chapter 11

The fake red leather made its usual fart and moan as Goren and Eames slid into the booth, but this time the noises failed to raise a smile. There was quiet chatter all around but between them hung silence. Goren fingered a scratch in the slightly sticky polish of the table and resisted the urge to down his drink in one swallow. He suspected he would need it later. The booze had succeeded in damping down the voices in his head and now he was relying on visual clues. They were not good.

Eames sat with her back straight and her elbows tucked in, her beer untouched by her side. Unable to deploy any telekinetic twiddling as they were in public, she was concentrating on separating the paper layers of an embossed coaster. Her bangs flopped forward hiding her eyes as she carefully laid each peeled off sheet in a pile. Unable to bear it any longer, Goren halted her activity, his one large hand engulfing both of hers.

Her bangs parted as she lifted her head and Goren watched as her hair tucked itself behind her ears. He doubted she even realised she'd done it. His eyes searched hers, longing for her to speak and dreading that she would. At last, she did.

"I hate this, Bobby. "

"This? The fighting? Or the not talking?"

"It's bigger than that, bigger than us. Everything's changed – I've changed... and I don't like it." Eames pulled her hands away. "Can't you _hear _ what I mean?"

Goren didn't miss the emphasis she put on the word 'hear'.

"No, I can't and I don't want to. Everything gets all muddled and when I try to sort it out, I say the wrong thing. So just tell me, Ea-Alex!"

So she told him. She told of the guilt she felt every time she came to work, looked at the new building, saw Ross. The guilt she felt every time they fought, every time she accused him, every time she hurt him. The guilt she felt every time she yearned for the way things used to be, for clearer boundaries and less complicated relationships... and sometimes for Joe.

Goren swallowed down his drink.

* * *

"...and that bastard Goren's the worst of the bunch! I bet it was him that put the Captain up to the idea of a new department and got me yanked from my office."

Tiggs took another swig of his beer and wondered why he was telling a stranger all of this. He looked into those kindly eyes and his doubts vanished. This man wasn't a stranger; he was a friend, an ally, a confidant. Someone Tiggs could trust, maybe the only one he could. He leaned over to the man, closing one eye against the stinging cigar smoke.

"Thing is, Goren's dangerous – he can read minds. One of these days he's going to catch on to what I'm doing and then –"

He drew a finger across his throat in a slicing motion. His new friend rescued the baseball Tiggs had knocked with an elbow during his demonstration and smiled his most reassuring smile.

"Stick with me, son. I'll see you right. "

The worry vanished from Tiggs' face to be displaced by something bordering on adoration. His friend continued.

"So tell me, just what are you doing?"

And Tiggs was surprised to find himself telling all.

* * *

"I feel trapped."

Goren was feeling it, too - pinned by the weight of Eames' words, the burden of her guilt. He wished that the booze could dampen the raw edge of desperation emanating from her like it dampened the other thoughts and feelings in the bar, not because he didn't care but because he cared so much. After wishing she would talk, he was now wishing she would stop but she didn't.

"I can't even get a transfer now."

"You want to leave ... uh -the department?" He meant to say 'me' but found he didn't have the courage. She caught the real meaning.

"You're a great partner, Bobby, at work... and in bed."

He sensed the 'but' coming and was seized by the urge to kiss her, hard and fiercely, to let the feedback work its magic and to derail this conversation. He remained still, however, fearing he had too much to drink for it to work or for him to follow through, knowing it would only postpone the inevitable.

"But ..." There it was. "... It's the bits in-between where things are a struggle. And now that's spreading into work. I hate what I'm doing to us, to you. I hate what I've become."

Eames sat back, her hand coming up to stroke her neck; a gesture he knew only too well. It meant she was about to say something difficult.

* * *

Logan was sprawled on his sofa, shoes and tie off, resting a bottle of beer on his belly. He wasn't watching whatever crap was playing on the TV. He was thinking about Falacci. About the way he'd made her smile and the way it had made him feel. About her shithead of a husband who didn't know how lucky he was. About three kids who'd be missing their mother tonight.

And because he was tired and lonely and the beer was not his first, he thought about the wife he didn't have, the kids he didn't have ... and he was still thinking about Falacci. The bottle shattered in his hand and he leapt up, dripping blood from his cut hand and beer from his soaked shirt.

The doorbell rang.

Logan cursed. Stepping gingerly, mindful of the broken glass, and fishing a hankie awkwardly from his pocket, he answered the door. It was Falacci. She looked at the makeshift bandage and his wet shirt.

"Bad time?"

"Probably – but don't let that stop you."

"I –uh – I need a place to crash."

Falacci didn't tell him that she needed more than that; that she needed a friend, that she needed someone who understood. That her goodnight call to the kids had gone unanswered. She hoisted the six-pack to shoulder level.

"I brought beer."

Logan opened the door wide. He could barely contain his grin.

* * *

"I think we should take a break."

Goren felt a surge of relief.

"Good idea, let's get away, I know this great place-"

"Not a vacation, Bobby. A separation."

Eames slid out of the seat and gathered up her coat and purse. She paused for a moment and looked down at Goren.

"I'm sorry."

Goren's hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Hoping his alcohol-addled Talent would co-operate, he balled up all his feelings - all his hurt, his anguish, his sorrow, his regret and his love - and shoved them at her. She staggered under the impact, but quickly recovered to silently shake her head and leave.

* * *

Ross was feeling more at ease. The evening was pleasant, the days' work was done and Elizabeth was by his side, her arm tucked in his. These were the moments that kept him going. He turned to give her a smile and basked in the one he received in return. Turning back, he spotted a familiar figure; its head- down, determined stride at odds with the meandering crowd enjoying the evening.

"Isn't that-? Evening, Eames!"

He called out his greeting but Eames didn't hear, she just kept on walking. Ross shrugged and he raised his hand to open the door of the bar for Elizabeth. It swung open abruptly, almost sending him flying. Goren barged past, ignoring them, and made off down the street. His manner matched Eames', but he was headed in the opposite direction.

Ross looked at Elizabeth.

"Please tell me why I should not be worried about that."


	12. Chapter 12

Jess Morgan loved her job.

Left a young widow by the car crash that had robbed her of a husband and daughter to fuss over, she'd channelled all her urges into looking after her colleagues. It was something that had become much easier since the infamous storm; now she didn't have to guess their needs, she just _knew. _ It gave her a great deal of satisfaction to provide practical assistance, a kind word or commiseration at just the right time.

This morning it was proving trickier than usual. The captain was Jess' main priority; after all, she was his PA. Ross' _need_ for morning coffee was expected, if a little stronger than usual, but she doubted the printout she'd left on his desk would do anything about his _need_ for answers. With a sense of dissatisfaction, she went to put on another pot of coffee. Jess had feeling it would come in handy this morning.

She was right. Logan made a beeline for the pot when he came in, bristling with _needs_ that she wasn't prepared to fulfil, not in a million years. Falacci, suspiciously close on his heels, was also full of _needs_ but Jess suspected Logan was already well on the way to meeting them. Not much she could do here. Her dissatisfaction increasing, Jess turned back towards her desk.

She was surprised to see Tiggs had snuck in without her realising. Usually he screamed 'needy' and she'd made attempts to bolster his self- esteem but his defences and paranoia were too high for her kindness to penetrate. Today, however, he seemed unusually confident. Jess had barely begun to wonder about that when her thoughts were interrupted by Petronelli's arrival. Now his _needs_ were easy.

"Hey, Ric, how's that beautiful boy of yours?"

Jess let his words and the pleasure roll over her. _This_ was what she lived for. Feeling a whole lot sunnier, she continued her way back to her desk. She'd barely reached it when a dark cloud cast its shadow on her mood. She turned to see Goren shuffling into the bullpen.

Whoa! Normally Goren's _ needs _ were a tangle of vague complex ideas that she could barely fathom, but when the occasional clear one arose, she found herself inordinately pleased to be able to present him with the relevant file or a fresh marker pen. Maybe it was the smile...

Today his _needs_ were loud and clear, terribly so. He _needed_ Eames,_ needed _freedom from the noises in his head and he _needed_ a drink. The last one was so strong that Jess found herself hankering for a glass of Glenlivet even though she never touched whiskey. Shaken by the force of his feelings, Jess escaped to the ladies room to pull herself together.

That was a mistake. Eames was bent over one of the sinks, splashing cold water on her face. Her usually straightforward _needs_ were now a tangled mess that Jess couldn't unpick. But one overrode them all. Driven by her own need to make things right for people, Jess spoke up.

"You did the right thing."

Belatedly, Jess remembered there was a difference between what people needed to hear and what they wanted to hear. Several stall doors slammed at once as Eames let out a strangled cry and bolted out of the bathroom.

* * *

Logan watched silently as a tight-lipped Eames took a seat at her desk. You could cut the atmosphere between her and Goren with a knife. Obviously yesterday's showdown in the interview room had only been the opening bout. Logan flirted with the idea of opening a book then discovered he didn't have the heart for it. He turned his attention back to Falacci.

"Any answer?"

Falacci replaced the receiver and shook her head.

"Nope, not at home or his cell and his office said he's taken some leave. The school said the kids are off sick with a stomach bug. Logan, I'm –"

She was interrupted by Jeffries calling across the room.

"Logan, it's the M.E. for you – line two."

They waited the expected five seconds and then the phone rang. Logan answered it and, of course, it was Rodgers on the line.

* * *

Rodgers smiled at the matching queasy looks on Logan and Falacci's faces. Jefferson Davies, more commonly known as the Orange Man, didn't look any prettier or less orange on the inside.

"See how the lungs are liquified, it's spread a little to the surrounding organs. Looks like something's reacted with his skin, nasal passages, right down into his lungs."

Logan leaned over to look closer, his breathing shallow to protect against an odious smell. It was not as bad as he expected, there was just the usual ripe sickly scent of the beginnings of decomposition.

"Anything on the tox screen?"

Rodgers checked the contents of the folder in her hands.

"The usual money-man mix of cocaine and alcohol, and something the lab couldn't identify, which probably caused all this..." She flapped her hand in the direction of the body.

Falacci chimed in.

"You ever seen anything like this before?"

Rodgers leaned back against the counter and folded her arms.

"Well, the tissue damage is similar to someone who's come into contact or inhaled something corrosive. But I'd expect to see damage to the clothing and there is none. And I can't account for the colour."

Logan straightened and went back to stand by his partner.

"Did you try ... you know?"

Rodgers hugged herself a little tighter at the memory.

"Yes, I _touched_ him. Nothing of use. He was pumped up about a deal, then suddenly there was a searing pain in his face, he struggled to catch his breath and that was it. I've got the lab doing more tests, but it doesn't look promising. Over to you."

She handed the folder to Logan.

"Thanks," he replied, sardonically. "I guess we'd better see if they've sent over the security tapes yet."

* * *

"You turn up anything in those records?"

Goren was too preoccupied to notice that Tiggs' didn't shrink away or avoid his eyes as usual. Tiggs reached across the desk and grabbed a stack of files, more neatly piled than they had been yesterday.

"It's all in the report I put on top, but the upshot is the ex-wife's behind it. Got a real axe to grind. And she seems to have got herself an unscrupulous lawyer who's happy to file one malicious suit after another."

"Got a name?"

"Yeah, it's Carver, Ronald Carver."

Goren's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Tiggs waited until Goren was safely out of earshot before he picked up the phone.

"It's me. I think I've found just the person you need."


	13. Chapter 13

"Are you sure?"

Ross knew it was useless to ask, they wouldn't have brought him the information if it was just a suspicion. Eames confirmed it.

"We checked with the Bar Association – apparently when he left the DA's office Carver went into private practice. Quite a successful one, too."

From his seat in the far corner of the office, Goren interjected;

"Not surprising, if he's using those kinda tactics."

Eames swivelled in her chair to face him.

"The ABA's got no records of any complaints, quite the reverse. He's gaining a good reputation as a defence attorney-"

"Only for the well-heeled!"

Eames ignored Goren's sharp interruption and turned back to Ross. "- seems he's using his experience as a prosecutor to good effect."

"I never worked with him but I heard he was a bit of a stickler for the rules." Ross pinched the bridge of his nose; he felt a migraine coming on and the antagonism between Eames and Goren wasn't helping. "Seems a bit of a leap..."

Goren snorted.

"Oh, he could be cunning – found the loopholes when he needed them. And remember that time, Eames, when he went back on his word."

This time Eames didn't bother to turn around fully. Her response was tossed over her shoulder accompanied by a rattling of the blinds.

"Yeah, but it was usually you twisting him into some dubious ploy. You obviously taught him well."

"Enough!" Ross slammed his hand on the desk. "Check it out, but tread carefully. We don't want to tip him off." Goren was already halfway out of the door before he'd finished. His partner seemed less eager. "And, Eames - a word, if you will."

Ross took a deep breath while Eames sat back in the chair.

"You were out of order yesterday. I don't know what's going on with you and Goren, but I will not have any member of my team behave in such an unprofessional manner." He was uncomfortably pleased to note that Eames had enough shame to blush. "Consider this a warning – one more episode like that, and you'll find yourself with a new partner, permanently."

Ross paused for a moment; considering the current hostilities between her and Goren, Eames may not perceive that as much of an incentive. He was also mindful that her behaviour of late was out of character. Well, other minds were better suited to sort out that problem. He continued;

"And sessions with Skoda are mandatory. Twice a week for the next month. He'll be contacting you shortly to make arrangements."

Eames rose, stone-faced, and silently left the office. The only indication of her displeasure was the web of lines that appeared in the glass door panel as the safety glass cracked. Ross closed his eyes because his vision was beginning to swim and take on an unpleasant orange hue, his ears were ringing with screams and the sense of dread was making him nauseous. But closing his eyes didn't help; now the orange tint became a wall of fire behind which he could see Goren bound and gagged in a chair, Petronelli standing by him gradually fading to a shadow, tears running down a boy's face and, superimposed over it all, a baseball slowly spinning.

His head hit the desk with a thump.

* * *

Jess closed the office door gently. There was nothing more she could do. Rodgers' was giving evidence in court, so she'd left a message. She'd placed a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol on the captain's desk and placed a folded sweater under Ross' head. She would contact Maintenance when he woke.

Logan was making his way across the squad room with an air of purpose. Jess moved to block his path.

"Now's not a good time..."

He looked crestfallen, and Jess sensed the reason. With a smile, she suggested;

"Why don't you ask Jeffries?"

* * *

Jeffries eyes narrowed. A personal favour for Logan could be risky and he was only a couple of years off claiming a full pension. He wasn't going to blow his retirement plans of going from state to state in a brand new Winnebago to fish all the great lakes and rivers for the sake of lining Logan's pockets.

"C'mon, Jeffries! Please..."

Logan's face put the average puppy to shame. Jeffries felt himself waver then thought of trout and salmon with improbable dimensions.

"What's it worth?"

Logan rolled his eyes.

"Jeez, you lot all want to place the bets, but it's always me who's the bad guy. This is not about money!"

"Half off what I owe you."

"Third."

"Deal ! Now, what's the cell phone number?"

* * *

Ron Carver slammed down the phone. Money grabbing bitch! As if a house in the Hamptons wasn't enough... His hand remained on the receiver as he took several deep breaths and his features rearranged themselves into their customary placid expression.

Marianne hadn't always been this way. They'd both been young and idealistic once. She'd been so proud when he'd gone to work for the DA's office. The years had passed and no children had come, and her old friends had forsaken her for their families. She'd found new friends through her charity work; ladies who lunched and did good works as a sop to their conscience, ladies whose husbands earned the big bucks. That's when it had started. Carver winced at the memory of her wheedling voice:

"_Ron, honey, don't you want to make me happy?"_

"_You deserve it, Ron. You've done your part, now's the time to reap some rewards for all your hard work..."_

Drip, drip, drip until at last he'd relented. Her connections and his reputation meant his practice soon took off and the money had started rolling in, but not fast enough for his wife.

"_Think of how it would look, darling, if I turned up in last season's dress?"_

"_How can we entertain clients in this shabby old place?"_

They'd bought a new house that seemed to need a lot of maintenance but not as much as Marianne, with her bevy of beauty treatments, spa visits and personal trainers. The money was going out faster than it was coming in. When he protested, she laid on the guilt.

"_My life's so empty; I need to keep busy – if only we'd had children. Of course, if I'd married a different man, I might have..."_

"_Aren't I worth it?"_

When that failed, she resorted to straightforward blackmail.

"_Don't forget- I know. One word, Ronald, one word in the right ear..."_

Such a stupid petty little thing, probably wouldn't have been a problem if he'd come clean at the time. But he couldn't risk a black mark. Not after all those years working his way through law school, not after being held up as a shining example in the neighbourhood, not after seeing the pride on his mother's face. He'd lied – and that was now a far bigger issue than the original misdemeanour. If the ABA found out he'd lose his licence, his wife, his home – everything. And his mother would no longer beam with pride.

Carver shuddered and began searching his files for the next mark to bleed dry in an attempt to satisfy his leech of a wife.


	14. Chapter 14

Eames was too busy brooding to notice the way Bobby surreptitiously slipped something into his pocket as she approached their desks. He hastily swilled some coffee and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Well?"

"The usual BS – behave and get your head shrunk or else."

The words came out a little snappier than Eames intended, and Bobby's searching look didn't help. Hell, how could she want a man so badly but want to run far and fast away from him at the same time? She thought of Ross' threat; she needed time and space to deal with her messy private life but no way did she need a new partner. Reluctantly she conceded that seeing Skoda could be a good idea. She watched the hope flare in Bobby's eyes and with it her irritation returned.

"Don't get ideas, buster, and stay out of my head!"

For once, he was smart enough to keep quiet and she found herself softening as his eyes cast downwards.

"Let's go talk to Lafferty's ex-wife – see if she was the driving force or Carver, looking to add a bit more flash to his wardrobe."

* * *

"Philadelphia!"

Falacci's voice was shrill and Logan tried to avoid wincing as she continued;

"What the hell's he doing down there? The kids are supposed to be in school – Joel's got his project to –"

"Bucket."

"What do you mean 'Fuck it'? How can I just let it go when he's taken-"

"Bucket!"

Falacci stared blankly at Logan for a moment before the unmistakeable smell of burning reached her nostrils. She looked down to see a tendril of smoke curling up from the sleeve of her jacket. Hastily she switched her attention to the metal pail of water by her desk and patted the singed fabric.

"Are you sure?"

Logan relaxed a little.

"You know Jeffries is never wrong about phones and such. If he says Steve's cell is currently in Philly, that's where it is."

"I'm going to see the Captain, get some personal time and head down there. You coming?"

Logan flicked a glance across to the captain's office with Jess standing guard.

"I don't think Ross is available..." Grudgingly, Logan put aside self-interest and came to her husband's defence. "Steve may be acting like an asshole, but he's not going to harm the kids. They're probably having a high ol' time with their dad, he'll soon realise how much he needs you and come crawling back."

Falacci considered this for a moment.

"It's just not fucking fair! I –I miss them so much."

Logan rose. After a quick glance around the squad room, he squeezed Falacci's shoulder.

"Let's give him a coupla days to come to his senses and to get this case sorted. If he's not co-operating by then, I'll visit him in person and make him an offer he can't refuse."

Logan delivered the last line in his best Brando impersonation and Falacci found herself smiling.

* * *

The interview with Lafferty's ex- wife, Kim, had confirmed Goren's suspicions. Carver had pushed her into filing more and more spurious suits; actions her new husband, Vic, had been happy to fund. Goren felt a little disappointed; he'd rather admired Carver despite their differences. The disappointment mingled with Kim's spite and Vic's obsequiousness making the turmoil already in his head even worse. And that was without Eames' contribution. He'd been a little relieved when she'd headed off for her first appointment with Skoda.

Goren eyed the amber liquid as it rolled around in the glass. He knew he shouldn't – and not just because he was on duty. He replaced the drink on the bar untouched and studied it. The bartender picked up on his conflict.

"Are you a Stepper?"

Goren shook his head and the woman moved away to deal other lunchtime customers, leaving him to his internal debate. As much as it hurt, he could understand Alex's yearnings for simpler times. He was growing to hate his Talent; the constant clamour in his head, the emotions that were not his to feel, the painful insights and the things he shouldn't know. And he hated the way he was becoming lazy, relying on his Talent to provide answers instead of his intelligence and other skills. If only he could turn it off...

He fished around in his pocket and drew out a small plastic bottle and placed it next to the glass. The bottle was almost the same colour as the whisky and he could see the cluster of small pills inside. Diazepam - remnants from his mother. They helped. He could still hear the voices but they came from far away and he was numb to the emotions – all emotions, even his own. The pills made him feel a little light-headed and a bit spacey and the long list of side effects he'd read in his PDR scared him. Not like the booze.

He shifted his attention back to the glass. The familiar effects of alcohol would wrap around his brain like a comforting blanket, muffling sound and warming even the most chilling of feelings. The Glenlivet was easier to swallow than bitter pills, an indulgence as much as a crutch, one that he deserved considering all he had to deal with.

Decision made, Goren slipped the bottle back in his pocket and picked up the glass.

* * *

Logan and Falacci were huddled in the AV room when Goren returned to the bull pen and he couldn't resist looking in.

"What ya watching?"

Logan grinned over his shoulder.

"It sure isn't cable."

Falacci kept her eyes fixed on the screen. She couldn't afford to waste a moment; she wanted to get this case solved so she could get her kids.

"It's the security tapes from the garage. We've got several angles but the quality's not good. Don't know if better definition would help though – they all show the same thing. Orange Man walks down the ramp, staggers then drops to the floor."

Goren studied the image, his head cocked to one side.

"Play that back again."

Logan grabbed the remote and rewound the tape as Goren moved towards the monitor. They watched in silence as the man walked down the ramp again.

"Freeze it! There..." Goren pointed a long finger at an area towards the right hand side of the screen. "That shadow ... it's –uh- wrong. See?"

Logan squinted. Damn, Goren was right! It wasn't a shadow but the shape of something or someone in the corner. He couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice.

"Let's get the lab boys to clean up the image. We've got a guard to re-interview!"

Feeling a little envious, Goren made his way back to his desk and the boring task of going through the court files to track down some of Carver's other clients. The squad room was relatively quiet but there was still a din in his head. Logan's elation and concern, Falacci's urgency and anger, Ross' fear and frustration, Petronelli's pride and love, Tigg's-

"Here..."

Jess was holding out a packet of mints.

"You might want to switch to something with a less distinctive smell."

Embarrassed, Goren found himself craving another drink; yearning to be rid of this curse he had once called a Talent. He grabbed for the mints. His fingers brushed Jess' and a glorious silence flooded his head. The only thoughts in his mind were his own, as were the feelings. His hand lingered.

Jess smiled.

* * *

Ron Carver burst from the courtroom and began to pace up and down the hall. He'd lost the motion to suppress a key piece of evidence and now it was likely he would lose the case. That meant no big pay day. He checked his watch. He was due to meet Marianne in an hour and she would be full of the ideas that the latest interior designer had put in her head. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of how much it would cost.

"Mr Carver!"

He turned at the sound of his name to see a man at the far end of the hall casually tossing a baseball in one hand. For a moment he was mesmerised by the ball rising and falling with the regularity of a metronome.

"Mr Carver?"

He shook off the trance-like sensation to find that he had approached the man and was now looking into reassuring grey-blue eyes that seemed to hold all the answers. The tension drained from his body to be replaced by an overwhelming faith in this man. His friend smiled and Carver ignored the thought that this was not a chance encounter.


	15. Chapter 15

"How're you doing?"

Rodgers was careful not to spill the coffee into the saucer as she placed her cup on the table. Ross picked up his own cup and blew on the steaming liquid, trying to organise his thoughts.

"Well, Logan and Falacci have got a lead – the guard confirmed that a homeless man hangs about the garage sometimes. He didn't mention it because, like most in this city, he didn't really pay any attention to him. They're waiting to see if the lab can clean up the image enough to get an ID. "

"I didn't ask for a briefing, Danny - I want to know about you."

Ross cast a nervous glance around the canteen. He lowered his voice.

"Not so good. As soon as I get into work, the visions start. People are going to die, Elizabeth! And Goren's at risk. It's like Tates all over again."

"How're things with him and Eames?"

"Frosty. Eames is turning into a circus act with all the spinning stationery; thankfully Jeffries has hidden the drawing pins. Goren's off- form; he keeps sneaking out – maybe for a smoke, but I don't know. When he's in the squad room, he's distracted and keeps staring at Jess. "

"Maybe you're picking up on their tension, that's why you're seeing him in your visions."

"No, it's more than that – why else would I see him bound and gagged?"

Ross sighed and wished Elizabeth had not chosen to wear orange today.

* * *

Goren was not happy. The combination of whiskey and mints was making him feel sick; he couldn't drink anymore without it becoming obvious but it was still not drowning out Eames' thoughts. Her first session with Skoda seemed to have created yet more turmoil.

_... why am I suspicious? ... why do I have doubts after wanting this for so long? ... why do I love him yet think of Joe all the time? ... why did that fucking storm have to happen?... _

He agreed with the last thought, but couldn't say anything because then Eames would be reminded that he could _hear_ her. Goren tried to distract himself by making another call to one of Carver's clients and was put on hold. The tinny music added to the clamour in his head.

_... didn't need any special tricks with Joe... what if it's just the feedback? ... would he still be such a great lay without it? ... what if that's all it is? ... _

Goren really did not want to be _hearing_ this. His ego was wounded enough already and his libido had grown accustomed to a regular workout and didn't need to be reminded what he was missing. He fingered the flask in his pocket; the hold music was still droning on, Eames' thoughts continued to whirl in his head while post-it notes circled hers like a flight of swallows, the audible hubbub of the squad room was nothing compared to the background noise only he could hear. Goren slammed down the phone and looked thoughtfully across the room at Jess.

* * *

"Are they really necessary?"

Carver looked over his shoulder at the pair of men that flanked the door. There was not a lot to differentiate them; both were squat, sturdy men past their prime but still with enough muscle mass to appear intimidating. Shaved heads, tight-fitting tees and an excess of jewellery and tattoos completed the picture.

"Don't mind Maxim and Yegor. Here, boys, go fetch some coffee." Carver watched as the speaker put the baseball on the desk and peeled off several bills from a thick roll pulled from his pocket. The goons obeyed without comment and Carver relaxed for the first time since arriving at the former nightclub in the East Village.

The speaker took a seat and continued;

"They have their uses but mainly they're window dressing. People have certain...expectations. Now Mr Carver, have you thought any more about my proposition?"

Carver felt his unease return at the sight of the shark- like smile. He was out of place in this seedy manager's office with its lurid publicity posters proclaiming what topless delights former customers could expect. The posters were torn and faded and the pin-up calendar showed it had been almost a year since Miss July's breasts had been exposed. The sour smell of stale sweat and desperation mingled with fresh cigar smoke and Carver knew it would cling to the fibres of his suit. He did not reveal his discomfort; his face was impassive as he settled back into the shabby chair and steepled his fingers.

He had considered the proposition and was still undecided. It was one thing to bend the law, quite another to break it. The surroundings and the goons did not fill him with confidence but the sight of that fat wad of money did. The memory of Marianne's armful of swatches was fresh in his mind. He thought of that stupid law school mistake and the lies he'd told to cover it up, thought of the nights he'd woken with the cold sweat of fear chilling his body. How much worse would they be if he took this irrevocable step?

He suppressed a shudder and looked across the battered desk into patient grey-blue eyes. His doubts vanished. This man had confidence in him, would protect him and would never turn on him. He'd been wrong - there was nothing shark-like about that benevolent smile and now Carver was sure; he would do whatever this man wanted, even die for him. He returned the smile.

"Count me in."

* * *

Falacci burst into the captain's office waving a sheet of paper. Logan was a step behind.

"We've got him!"

Ross looked up from the report he was reading, hope flaring in his eyes. He held out his hand for the paper.

Falacci was too impatient to wait for him to read it.

"We showed the enhanced image around some of the hostels - got a name. Ran it through our databases to confirm it. We've got him!"

Ross glanced across at Logan noting he was not sharing his partner's excitement. As he finished the report, he realised why.

"You've got a man's details but not the man. A homeless man. He could be anywhere...You need to wear out some more shoe leather."

Ross understood Falacci's disappointment; he shared it. He reviewed the details hoping they would trigger a vision to provide further insight but nothing came except an icy shiver down his spine.

* * *

Jess didn't have to turn around to know that Goren was approaching. She could sense his _need_ and it was making her uncomfortable. As uncomfortable as the way he'd been staring at her all day. This was not her role – he should be turning to Eames, the captain, Skoda, anyone but her. The fix she could provide would only be temporary and would never be enough. _ But just think of it! Think of yourself for once! Think how it would feel..._

Jess blushed and hoped Goren was too preoccupied to have picked up on her thoughts. After all, who didn't have a bit of a crush on Bobby Goren after they'd been on the receiving end of one of his smiles? She scooped up the pile of paper from the copier and clutched it to her chest like a shield before turning to face him.

Goren's feet made a shuffling noise on the floor as they signalled his indecision, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as his eyes darted anywhere but Jess' face. Jess silently prayed that he just wanted a fresh folder or something retrieved from the archives, anything but -

"Jess, could I – uh ..."

God! His bashfulness was worse than his smile and his distress sang out in mute appeal to her Talent. Despite her misgivings, Jess reached out and touched his sleeve.

"Detective?"

Goren's hand clamped over hers, a look of relief spreading over his face. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Silence... you bring the silence. I need..." His words trailed off and his hand relaxed, long fingers absently moving to stroke hers. Jess watched the dreamy look depart from Goren's face as he refocused. Her stomach fluttered under the double impact of limpid brown eyes and a full-wattage smile.

"Jess! Have dinner with me. Tonight. Eight o'clock..." Suddenly animated, Goren danced around Jess; tugging at her arm as she demurred and tried to dodge him. She remained resolute and had almost made it back to her desk when the offensive ceased to be replaced by just one simple word.

"Please..."

There was a broken quality to Goren's voice matched by the look in his eyes. Jess caved.

They were unaware that they were being watched. Across the bull pen Eames' eyes narrowed as her hand tightened on the phone and its cord twisted and writhed. Behind her Tiggs turned back to his computer, opened up the email programme and began to frantically type.


	16. Chapter 16

Gene Hench paused for a moment to take in the scene around him. It had been a long time since he had last walked out in the open along Wall Street but he couldn't resist the temptation any longer. The imposing buildings soared into the sky, the pedestrians wore sleek city suits and everything stank of money – lots of money.

Not Hench. He had the nickname Hench the Stench for a reason. A foul odour clung to his matted hair, straggly beard and filthy clothing. Passers-by gave him a wide berth, holding their breath with their eyes averted. Those that registered his presence that is - to most he was invisible. It hadn't always been that way. Years ago he had attracted stares as he walked proudly down this street, handsome in an expensive suit. That was before pressure had led to more drinking, more drinking had led to more mistakes, more pressure and yet more drinking. And so the downward spiral had begun until he had lost everything.

He'd thought he'd reached rock bottom a year ago when he lay in a holding cell in One Police Plaza, listening to the thunderstorm crashing and booming overhead. Sure, he'd been in police cells before and even prison for a short time, but only for minor league stuff to do with drunkenness and vagrancy. Murder was a completely different ball game. Eventually, after many hours of interrogation and a brief stay at Rikers, he'd been released without charge.

That's when things had gone from bad to worse. The false accusation spawned a bitterness that had churned in his stomach. He'd begun to feel bilious and bloated and had blamed it on the half-eaten burger he'd foraged from a trash can. The feelings grew as his belly swelled with trapped wind. Huddling in an alley, he watched apathetically as a hooker conducted her business and lingered after the john had left to smoke a cigarette. He finally summoned up the nerve to scrounge a smoke. As he rose, he felt something give and the gas was expelled from his body with a loud ripping sound and a reek that made even his eyes water.

The hooker had staggered and fallen to the floor with a groan. Hench shuffled over, partly to check if she was OK but mainly to see what he could purloin. He'd been shocked to discover her face hideously melted and fizzing, looking just like freshly poured orangeade. Mindful of his recent brush with the law, Hench shoved her body in a dumpster; piled on some trash gathered from the alley and had fled.

A few weeks later he'd convinced himself he'd been hallucinating. Cheap liquor had that effect sometimes. That had been until the fight in the encampment under the bridge. He'd lost his meagre belongings and his spot for the night and that bilious bloat had returned. This time he couldn't deny it. He'd watched the result of his noxious eruption with horror.

Since then he'd ostracised himself further, avoiding even the other bums. But loneliness, memories of his former life and the hope that it had just been a couple of fluke incidents had to conspired to draw him back to the financial district where he'd found a good place to sleep in an underground garage. Security turned a blind eye and the response to his 'spare some change?' requests kept him at a comfortable level of mild inebriation.

One guy annoyed Hench, though. Maybe it was because he never put his hand in his pocket, or the air of condescension or the fact that it was like looking at himself all those years ago. Hench had felt his belly rumble and churn with that familiar sensation and had waited patiently until just the right time...

It had been liberating and in that moment, Hench hatched a bigger plan.

* * *

Captain Ross picked himself up off the floor, his head swimming. The men's room was not the best place to have a blackout. He'd have to change his clothes but first there were more urgent things to do. He lurched into the squad room still reeling from his latest premonition.

"Logan! Falacci! Get down to Wall Street. Now!"

Fortunately the detectives needed no further explanation and ran from the bull pen. Ross looked at Jess holding out his suit carrier and smiled weakly.

* * *

Hench held out his arms and turned slowly, savouring the anticipation, despite his painfully distended belly. Years of bitterness and resentment had fermented well and now he just needed to find the right place - the place that would have the most impact. He spotted the demonstration outside the landmark building of the New York Stock Exchange and smiled. Perfect!

* * *

Ross buttoned up his fresh shirt and mentally reviewed the details of his vision. It was easier now the nausea had subsided, the details were clearer. Definitely Wall Street and very soon. Ross thought he made out the face of Gene Hench in the panicking crowd but that maybe because he'd recently looked at the file. Everything had still been orange but it wasn't from a tint or filter but from... Ross closed his eyes, concentrating hard. It was gas, a cloud of gas. Oh no! He'd sent Logan and Falacci –

Ross grabbed the phone.

* * *

Hench elbowed his way through the placard-waving crowd, ignorant of the complaints and disgust his proximity stirred up. His belly felt ready to burst and bile was bubbling in his throat. Almost there...

* * *

"There he is!"

Logan brought the car to a screeching halt at Falacci's excited shout. She was halfway out of the car when his phone rang. He answered the call and listened impatiently as he opened the door.

"Wait for the fire department? But we can see Hench, Captain. He's just –"

Logan's face fell.

"Gas?"

He dropped the phone and ran after Falacci. Logan grabbed her by the waist and carried her back to the car, her legs flailing, her hands beating on his back as she shouted her protests. Wrenching open the car, he flung her on the seat and dived in after her, slamming the door. He was hastily shutting the vents when the first scream rang out.

* * *

Ross' mind was now racing in high gear. The fire department were on scene with a Hazmat team, measures had been taken to clear the area and his detectives were safe. Now there was just the problem of what to do with Hench. The standard police holding cells would not be suitable if he was, as Ross suspected, the source of the poisonous gas. Frantically he considered alternatives, mentally reviewing 1PP's facilities. Of course, the lab! Elizabeth would know the best set-up.

* * *

Logan peered through the narrow window set into the door. Hench looked shabby and pitiful. He was curled up in a ball in the corner of the room, rocking and mumbling to himself. Not that Logan could hear him because the room was sealed. He turned to Rodgers.

"Are you sure he can't fart and melt away the door or something? I saw what happened to that guy's face."

"I'm almost certain that his - ah - emissions only have an effect on living tissue. We'll need to do more tests to be sure." Rodgers smiled, reassuringly. "Don't worry, that room is set up for biohazard containment – in case we get an infected or contaminated corpse. "

She looked at the equipment piled up haphazardly around her where it had been dumped in the scramble to get the room prepared for the prisoner.

"Of course, it's only a temporary solution. We'll need to sort something out in the longer term." She tried to introduce a note of levity. "Maybe charcoal tablets and Pepto Bismol or –"

Falacci cut in, still looking a bit dishevelled from Logan's manhandling.

"Yeah, well that's for you guys to figure out. We've got other stuff to deal with. Logan?"

Logan glanced at Ross, slumped in a chair with his head bowed, and hurried after his partner. Rodgers waited until the door had closed before speaking.

"You did your best, Danny."

Ross looked up at her.

"Elizabeth, two people are dead, it's not good enough."

Rodgers moved closer and cradled his head against her body, stroking his curls.

"It could have been a lot more. It could have been Logan and Falacci..."

Ross' voice was muffled by her clothes and she had to bend to hear him.

"Goren and the boy had nothing to do with Hench, so what's in store for them if I can't make sense of these predictions?"

She felt his shudder and wondered why no-one was asking the other question. Who else had been in One Police Plaza on the day of the storm and how had they been affected?


	17. Chapter 17

"That's quite a story..."

Carver settled back in the shabby chair. He felt more at ease in the former nightclub now. The cleaners had been in, the posters had been removed and Mutt and Jeffski – or whatever they were called – were off running an errand for their boss. A fresh pot of coffee was brewing, driving out the less pleasant smells, although Carver had turned down the offer of a cup in favour of a glass of scotch.

He eyed his new ally dubiously. Shady business dealings and underhand practices were one thing, absurd tales of psychic powers quite another. Carver was usually good at spotting weirdos but he hadn't seen this coming and now he was in too deep. He'd already taken money and had used some of it to bribe various public officials into confirming a dummy corporation as the new owner of the nightclub, despite the zoning issues. The rest had gone towards Marianne's latest plans for their house and he was going to need more if the work was ever to be finished. But really - superpowers? He tried to keep the disdain from his voice as he continued;

"So 1PP wasn't brought down by a bomb and the former MCS has become a squad of supercops?"

His ally merely smiled.

"You might jest, Ron but I have it on good authority-"

"Tiggs? He's just a whiner with an axe to grind."

"Don't underestimate Tiggs. Where do you think all the money is coming from?"

"But Tiggs is part of the new squad, does that mean..?"

"The boy has quite a talent for alarm codes and safe combinations, not to mention credit card numbers. He's been keeping Maxim and Yegor busy as well as providing valuable intel. But don't fret; I'm not relying purely on his tattle. I was in 1PP on that day. I know from personal experience the effects of that storm."

Carver refrained from rolling his eyes. It was worse than he feared. This benevolent-looking, baseball-loving man was a raving loony. Carver's mind was working furiously on how to extricate himself from this mess when the next comment came.

"You were there, too. Remember?"

* * *

"Remember – you're just going to see the kids."

Logan risked taking his eyes off the road to glance over at Falacci. He should have let her drive to Philly. He could feel the temperature in the car rising as each mile passed and resolved to let her take a turn at the wheel at the next convenient place to swap over. Perhaps some music would help. He reached out and turned on the radio but Falacci switched it off immediately as the first chords of 'Light my Fire' blared out. Logan suppressed a chuckle and concentrated on finding a safe place to pull over but he couldn't resist a remark.

"Chill out, Falacci."

The glare he received was certainly icy.

* * *

Eames' attitude was cool but the repetitive slamming of her desk drawer gave her feelings away. The bastard already had date lined up! So much for that blast of emotion he'd given her in the bar. She was beginning to wonder if he could manufacture emotions to manipulate people just like he assumed various roles in interrogations. She'd been right to break it off for a while – his true colours were showing. If that was the case, why did it hurt so much?

The clock had stopped working. Or that's how it seemed to Goren; trapped at his desk listening to Eames' mental stream of vitriol punctuated by that infernal slamming. An evening spent in the quiet with Jess couldn't come too soon. And there she was, looking calm and content as she walked through the bull pen. He hoped his smile didn't look too desperate.

"I've booked a table for eight o'clock at Forlini's –see you there?"

Goren's pleasure at the look of delight on Jess' face was only slightly marred by a particularly nasty invective about Italian restaurants from Eames' mind. All three of them were oblivious to Tiggs in the background reaching for his phone. Jess avoided looking at Eames as she replied.

"Sure. I'm looking forward to it."

Jess escaped to the safety of her desk, out of Eames way and the _needs_ she was currently radiating; _needs_ that centred on eye gouging and castration. Jess shuddered and bent to her work. If she hurried, she'd have time to get her hair done.

Goren leaned across the desk and hissed at Eames.

"You don't have to be so vindictive. You were the one who wanted this."

A loud decisive slam of the desk drawer was the only reply.

* * *

A fist slammed on the table, making the baseball in its special stand jump.

"Think about it! I know you can be a silver-tongued bastard but did you really think you were that persuasive?"

Carver's mind toyed with the possibilities. It was true. He had been at 1PP on that day representing a client and they'd lingered in the lobby hoping to wait out the worst of the rain. And it was true that he seemed to have been able to sway a lot of people with the most tenuous of arguments over the last year. He'd won many cases that were long shots, others had been settled exceedingly quickly after a brief conference and usually obstreperous clerks and associates were surprisingly cooperative. Even the staff at his favourite deli seemed willing to bend over backwards to fill his every request. He'd put it down to the challenge of private practice making him up his game and the resultant success made him exude an air of authority and confidence. Perhaps something else was at work? There was just one flaw in the theory.

"What about my wife? I don't have any influence on her."

"In my experience some people are immune or resistant to the effects. Unfortunately it seems to be women, or maybe it's just spouses, I don't – "

The speaker broke off as the phone rang. Carver was wondering exactly what experience his partner-in-crime had and how the storm had affected him but as he listened to one side of the telephone conversation he became alarmed to observe a manic glint develop in those once kindly blue-gray eyes and the gentle smile become a sneer.

"Tiggs! What have you got for me, son..? Eight o'clock at Forlini's, OK... Are you sure Eames will be out of the way? Uh huh...what about Ross? He does, eh? Well, he'll cotton on too late – he usually does. And the others? Philly! I'm not even going to ask... "

Carver started to shift uneasily in his chair – he really didn't like the sound of this. His unease grew as the conversation continued.

"So Goren'll be distracted –good. Tonight, then. Round up the Russians and meet me here at seven and we'll go over the plan. I've just got some business to conclude here."

Carver was panicking. What the hell had he gotten into and how could he ever think he could trust this man? His eyes darted about and came to rest on the baseball now casually spinning on the table. He looked up, blinked, and wondered why he had doubted this man's sincerity. It was not madness in those eyes, just warmth, and the sneer had been replaced by a beaming smile of paternal-like pride. Carver felt his heart swell with affection and loyalty and he forgot his misgivings. He was going to have an opportunity to demonstrate that he would do anything for this man.

His earlier question about the effect of the storm on his friend remained unasked and Carver found himself agreeing without question to participate in tonight's venture.


	18. Chapter 18

Ross paced the lab, pausing occasionally to glance at the room that contained Hench. Rodgers felt her own nerves beginning to fray.

"He's not going anywhere, Danny. You don't have to stand guard – that's what these guys are doing."

She indicated to the two black-clad SWAT officers looking even more sinister with the gas marks hanging around their necks. Ross bit back the urge to go through the emergency drill with them once more and resumed his pacing.

"Can't you feel it, Elizabeth? It's like a storm's building."

* * *

Jess patted her hair again to reassure herself the chignon wasn't coming loose. She didn't usually wear her hair like this – it felt a bit too sophisticated and grown-up – but the hairdresser assured her it suited her face. Another check in the mirror; no lipstick on her teeth, no smudged mascara. She saw the cab draw up to the curb and checked her purse for the final time, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach. It was time to go.

* * *

Falacci paused with her hand on the car door and turned back to look at Logan. She didn't know why she suddenly felt so apprehensive. Logan smiled at her.

"Don't worry – I'll be right behind you."

Falacci gave a weak smile in response, opened the car door and made her way across the motel parking lot.

* * *

Eames threw down the magazine on the sofa and snatched up the remote control. After flicking through the channels and not finding a single programme that caught her interest, she tossed the remote on top of the magazine. She didn't know what to do next – she was too unsettled. Maybe a bath would help. The water swirling into the tub was hypnotic and as she watched she realised her restlessness was the result of fear. Fear that she was going to lose Bobby, maybe already had.

* * *

The smell of cheap cologne pervaded the interior of the nondescript sedan making Carver feel even queasier. He was not happy about the presence of the two goons and was suspicious that they were there to keep him in check as much as playing a part in the plan. He was conscious that his palms were beginning to sweat and reached inside his coat for a handkerchief. Maxim, in the seat next to him, stiffened at the action and sensing his brother's alarm, Yegor fell silent. Carver drew out the handkerchief and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring and confident manner. The smile died as he saw the unmistakeable figure of Goren approach the restaurant opposite. The plan was on.

* * *

"No, I've not had a premonition - not one that adds anything new." Ross paused to take a swig of cold coffee and grimaced. "I just can't shake this awful feeling of dread."

"Perhaps you'd feel easier at home, maybe it's just all the associations you have with this place."

Rodgers had managed to persuade Ross to leave the lab but they'd only made it as far as his office to collect his jacket. She watched as he slumped into his chair, and sighed. It looked like they would be here for a while. Well, at least she could try to make him more comfortable.

Rodgers flicked the switch to turn the coffee pot on and moved to stand behind Ross. She placed her hands on his taut shoulders and began to rub, easing out the knots. Ross moaned and relaxed back against her, the tension draining from his face.

* * *

Falacci was enveloped in squeals, excited chatter and sticky kisses and was oblivious to the two men eyeing each other warily at the door. Steve was leaning against the door frame in an effort to block the doorway and Logan chuckled to himself. Steve didn't realise how ineffective he would be to prevent Logan coming in if he really wanted to. Steve glanced nervously over his shoulder again, checking on his wife, and Logan felt his temper flare. He nonchalantly unwrapped a stick of gum and chewed it for a moment before speaking, taking care to keep his voice even.

"Take it easy, man. She just wanted to see the kids."

"You don't know..." Steve's eyes narrowed. "Or maybe you do. You're one of _them_, too!"

Logan rolled his eyes.

"Trust me, I know what Falacci can do and if I were you I'd watch my mouth. She's far more likely to turn you into a crispy critter than to ever harm those kids. As for me..."

Logan let the words trail off as he raised an eyebrow.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Do I need to?"

Steve's eyes darted from Logan to his wife and back again and opened his mouth to speak. Something about Logan's quiet confidence made him change his mind and his jaw snapped shut. Logan nodded.

"Good. Let her have some time and we'll hang out here in this delightful setting then later you two can talk."

Logan settled himself into one of the plastic chairs that were arranged alongside the motel wall and, after a moment, Steve joined him.

* * *

"... and he still maintained the act right through to arraignment."

Goren paused to soak up the laughter at his account of the time he had arrested 'Batman'. Oh, this was good. No, better than that – this was great. He leaned back in his chair, taking care not to let go of Jess' hand, and savoured the moment. Although Forlini's was crowded and noisy, all was calm and quiet in his head. After the initial awkwardness had worn off the conversation flowed easily and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this relaxed. Jess began to tell her own Batman anecdote and as he listened, Goren stroked her hand.

* * *

Eames sank back into tub, closed her eyes and set het her mind to work. As the warm scented water worked its magic she began to see the root of her problems with Bobby. She had thought she needed space, but actually she had not made room for him. Joe still dominated her life; his picture remained by the side of her bed, a couple of his shirts still hung in her closet. Things could never be right, not with anyone, if she clung to the past. Tears seeped from her eyelids as she began the process of finally letting Joe go.

* * *

"You'll do fine, Ron. Remember he'll be powerless to resist. I have every faith in you and that silver-tongue of yours."

Carver snapped the phone shut and felt the knot in his stomach loosen. Of course he could do this.

* * *

Goren stuck his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath of the cool night air. When Jess finally emerged from the powder room he would summon a cab or maybe they could take a stroll as it was a lovely evening. He was feeling pleasantly buzzed from the wine and the company and was pretty confidant an invitation to come in for coffee was forthcoming. He smiled at the thought, a smile that grew even wider as he spied a familiar figure walking down the sidewalk. What a coincidence! The very man he'd been investigating. It could be a good opportunity to do a little more digging.

"Mr Carver! What brings you here on such a fine night?"

"Detective Goren – what a pleasant surprise! I was going to call you tomorrow..."

Carver let the words hang and Goren couldn't resist.

"Why?"

"I've stumbled onto something you need to see. In fact, I could show you now if you come with me."

Goren didn't notice that Carver had lowered his voice and his words had become even more carefully enunciated than usual. He was confused as to why he had the sudden urge to abandon an evening full of promise to go with Carver. He blinked and shook his head.

"I'm – ah – kinda busy right now. Tomorrow?"

"It. Is. Urgent. Come with me. _Now_."

All thoughts of Jess were forgotten. It was urgent; Goren had to go with Carver right now. He followed the well-dressed man across the street to the parked car and slid into the passenger seat. Goren turned to speak to Carver.

"Where are we go-"

Three things went through Goren's mind simultaneously; there were two very large men in the back seat of the car, a wrench could travel very fast and a blow to the head really hurt. Then the world went black.


	19. Chapter 19

The mug slipped from Ross's fingers and crashed to the floor, splashing coffee everywhere. He didn't care - pain was slicing through his head and he couldn't see anything. Something was very wrong. He groped for the edge of the desk to steady himself and, trying to ignore the way his stomach lurched, he called out for Elizabeth.

At the sound of Ross' panicked cry, Rodgers abandoned the bag of candy that had just dropped into the tray of the vending machine and ran to his office. She flung open the door in time to see him being violently sick into the waste paper basket. Ross fought off her attempts to help.

"Don't mind me – get Goren on the phone!"

Rodgers didn't hesitate and began to dial Goren's number. As she listened to the ring tone, she watched Ross shake his head as if trying to dislodge something. Finally he looked at her, his eyes squinting. She spoke;

"It's going through to voicemail – should I leave a message?"

"Yes! And try his landline ... and keep trying. I'll call the others."

* * *

Eames could hear the phone ringing in the bedroom. It seemed far away and she was feeling lethargic from the warm water and limp from the catharsis. Let it ring. She wasn't on call tonight, they could leave a message. The ringing stopped and she relaxed lower in the water, closing her eyes again. They flew open as her cell began to ring and she groaned. At least there were some advantages to telekinesis. Using her mind, she moved her cell into the bathroom as she dried her hands. Her lethargy vanished as she saw who was calling.

"Captain?"

She rose from the bath and telekinesis again came to her aid as she tried to use the towel one-handed while listening to Ross.

"No, he was going out with Jess – Forlini's, I think. He isn't?"

Eames quashed the surge of jealousy as she considered reasons why Bobby might not be answering his phone. The feeling quickly turned to worry as Ross explained.

"I'll check it out, Captain – see if you can get hold of Jess or the restaurant in the meantime."

* * *

Ross put down the phone and immediately redialled. As he waited for the call to connect, he looked at Rodgers. She shook her head.

"Keep trying. Eames said he'd gone out to dinner; she's on her way to the restaurant now. Jess? It's Ross, call me back the minute you get this message. It's urgent."

He turned back to Rodgers.

"His date's not answering either. I'm going to look a real fool if I bust up an intimate moment..."

"Go with your gut, Danny. What's a red face compared with the alternative?"

Ross nodded, his face taking on a look of resolve.

"OK . Forget calling Goren, you've left enough messages. Let's call in the rest of the team."

* * *

Quickly glancing to check that further hostilities hadn't broken out between Falacci and her husband, Logan fished his cell from his pocket. He was surprised to hear Rodgers' voice.

"He has? A premonition? Right. Falacci's with me – it'll take a while, we're in Philly. Yeah, long story. Keep me updated."

He snapped the phone shut and made his way over to where husband and wife were deep in discussion, their voices low to avoid being overheard.

"Sorry to interrupt but we've got to go, Falacci."

Steve stood, his shoulders squared.

"And we've got matters to settle. Important matters. She stays."

Falacci rolled her eyes and grabbed her jacket. She hadn't missed the note of urgency in Logan's voice.

"Don't be an ass, Steve. I'll talk to you later. Kiss the kids for me."

She hurried after Logan who had already got the car started.

"What's up?"

"Goren's AWOL and Ross is having a fit cos he's had one of his feelings so he's calling in the troops."

Falacci grabbed at the seatbelt as, with a spray of gravel and squealing tyres, the car raced out of the motel parking lot.

* * *

Petronelli gingerly placed the bloody knife in an evidence bag and straightened. He hated murder cases. This guy had a family and he wasn't looking forward to speaking to the wife later. At least the locals would handle the death notification but it would be up to him and Jeffries to handle the tricky matter of discovering what the man was doing in his office late wearing nothing but his shorts.

Jeffries ambled over, not giving the body a second glance.

"The only cameras are in the lobby and they're clean. The perp must have used the back stairs, probably let in by the dead – Oh, the captain's calling you."

Petronelli blinked at the abrupt change of subject. He stripped off his gloves and checked his cell.

"Are you sure?"

He almost dropped the phone as it sprang to life in his hand. And yes, it was the captain.

"Hey Boss! We're just finishing at the ... What? Gotcha."

He looked at Jeffries, who was grinning a little cockily that he'd been right.

"There's a problem. We're needed back at base pronto. Goren may be in trouble."

Jeffries' grin vanished.

* * *

"Forlini's confirm that Goren kept his reservation but he's not there any longer. His bill's paid and the waiter can't remember anything suspicious."

Rodgers was beginning to feel out of her depth. She wasn't used to being involved in situations like this. In the morgue things were under her control, the only pressure was generated by detectives eager to get their cases solved and the worst had already happened to the victims. At least Danny seemed to be rallying. His face had lost its pallor, his movements were more confident and his voice had regained its strength.

"Eames'll be there shortly, Elizabeth and then we'll know more. By that time the rest of the team will have gathered and we can plan a course of action. I've sent squad cars to check Goren and Jess' homes for signs of occupancy. The only loose end is Tiggs – I can't get hold of him either."

"You haven't mentioned him in connection with any vision, are you worried?"

"A little. It's not like he's much use in a tactical team but I'd rather know everyone was safe right now."

"So what's next?"

"The hardest part – we wait."

* * *

Jess stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night air and scanned the sidewalk for Bobby. The restroom had been busy and it had taken longer than she wanted and now she was eager to find out just how this evening would end. She had some idea of how she'd like it to continue. Where the hell was he? She hadn't been gone that long.

Her heart sank as she wondered whether he'd had second thoughts and taken the opportunity to escape. No, that wasn't like him. He had better manners than that. She checked the street again and started to feel anxious. What if something had cropped up? He'd contact her, surely. Jess' stomach clenched – she'd turned her phone off so the evening would not be interrupted. She hastily rummaged in her bag for her phone, feeling even guiltier when she saw there were several missed calls and a message.

She was just dialling the voicemail when she spotted Eames running down the street towards her. The last person she wanted to see. Jess turned to duck back into the restaurant when Eames' shout made her stop, the phone still held to her ear.

"Jess! Where's Bobby?"

"Can't you leave him alone?"

Eames came to a slightly breathless halt.

"I don't care about you and him..." She faltered. "OK, maybe I do - but it's not about that. Ross has had one of his premonitions."

As Eames spoke, the voicemail began to play Ross' message. Jess went white and she replied in a panicky rush.

"I was in the restroom. He said he wanted to get some air, would wait for me outside. I've just come out and he's not here."

Eames was calmer, on the outside at least.

"Call Ross, update him. I'm going to check if the restaurant has any security cameras."

With trembling fingers, Jess dialled. This was definitely not how she had wanted the evening to end.

* * *

At first, all Goren was aware of was the pain in his head. With each shallow breath it rolled over him in great nauseating waves making him both sweaty and shivery at the same time. Gradually it subsided to the point where he could breathe naturally and begin to think. What had happened? His memories were hazy and confused and he couldn't make sense of them. Had there been an accident? Was he in hospital? He cautiously opened his eyes expecting bright lights to set his head screaming in agony again but there was just darkness.

Oh, God! He'd gone blind! He began hyperventilating, making his head swim even more and the pain return. Panicked, he tried to move and realised he couldn't. As he wriggled, he realised he wasn't lying in a bed but was seated, restrained somehow. Oddly this calmed him, gave him something to focus on.

Slowly Goren began to take stock. He was sat in a chair, he could feel it rock as he moved. His feet were tied to the legs; he could feel hard wood digging into his ankles. He tried to lean forward and his chest tightened and pain shot through his shoulders. He realised his hands were cuffed – he could feel the cold metal – and something was wrapped around his chest holding him upright. The lack of vision began to make sense, he must be blindfolded. Other pieces began to drop into place; Carver, the car, the blow to the head.

Feeling a little more confident now he had figured out his immediate situation, he tried to get an idea of where he was. It was difficult to hear anything above the ringing in his ears and his head was too fuzzy and hurt too much to be able to use his Talent, but he got the impression that there were several people in the room and they were talking. Goren tried to relax and concentrate on the conversation. One voice was louder than the others.

"It wasn't necessary to hit him! It was working just as you said it would!"

The reply was initially indistinct to Goren's straining ears but the words quickly became clearer. He realised that the speaker must be approaching.

"Ah! Sleeping beauty awakes!"

Something about the voice was both comfortingly familiar and oddly unsettling.

"Let's take off the blindfold and have a good look at you."

The material was roughly tugged over the tender spot at the back of his head and he winced, squeezing his eyes shut at the jolt of pain. He tentatively opened them and found himself looking into a pair of grey-blue eyes that belonged to a face he knew only too well. He should - he had seen those eyes and that face on an almost daily basis for nearly five years. What the hell was Captain Deakins doing here?


	20. Chapter 20

_The door slamming stirred former NYPD Captain James Deakins from his doze. A few minutes later his wife bustled into the den, using a towel to dry her rain-dampened hair._

_"There you are! Hell of a storm, eh? My new pumps are ruined. I waited an age in the lobby with Suzi hoping it would soon blow over but ended up dashing for a cab...I thought you were going to see Rusty about a job? I hope you didn't go dressed like that?"_

_Deakins shifted uncomfortably under Angie's scrutiny aware that he looked scruffy in his old jeans and sweatshirt compared with her tailored suit. He really didn't want this conversation, didn't want to admit that he'd drawn a blank again. She must have seen it in his eyes._

_"Oh, Jimmy! You've not been sat here moping in front of the TV all afternoon, have you? It's not good for you - you need to keep yourself busy."_

_He stifled a laugh at that. Busy with what? He'd finished the odd jobs around the house that were within his capability weeks ago and Angie paid for a gardener and a cleaner despite his protests. The stain on his name meant that getting another job was proving impossible, Frank Adair had made sure word got around. He couldn't even round up a golf partner; those old friends who knew the truth were wary of being tainted by association. Trying not to let the defeat show in his voice, he replied:_

_"Not all afternoon, I called in at 1PP on my way back – tried to sort out that mix-up with my pension."_

_Angie looked at him expectantly and he shook his head,_

_"No dice - seems because I opted for early retirement voluntarily that's all I'm getting."_

_"Never mind, the feature in 'Cosmo' has doubled our sales this month and Suzi reckons we can open another outlet soon, so don't worry – we'll still have a roof over our head."_

_Deakins tried to be happy for Angie. She'd spent years at home raising their girls while he built his career. Now the girls had left home it was only fair that she had a chance to pursue her dreams. And she deserved to be successful. It was not her fault that he was left rattling uselessly around the empty house day after day becoming ever more dependent on his wife's income to pay the bills now that most of his pension was funding his daughters' education. At least the oldest had now graduated. All because he tried to do the right thing!_

_Hoping the bitterness didn't show in his voice, he congratulated his wife and only half-listened to her response as he turned the baseball over and over in his hand._

_"Wha-? No, I didn't call in to the squad room."_

_He'd been tempted – nostalgia was a powerful draw. It would have been good to touch base, to get a reminder of how good things had been, how good he'd been. He'd hovered, unseen, in the corridor of the eleventh floor and watched. He watched as his old squad went about their business as effectively and efficiently as they always had, watched as the man who'd taken his job went about his rounds, watched as the world continued to turn without him. And there was Eames, laying out the facts and there was Goren, weaving them together, and no doubt they were they would be the new captain's best detectives. He wasn't sure if it was the surge of anger or the stab of jealousy that left a nasty taste in his mouth. How dare they? I__t was as if he'd never been there, as if his sacrifice had been for nothing..._

_Deakins didn't know when he'd started carrying the baseball around like a talisman. In the old days, he'd occasionally fiddled with it as he worked through a problem in his mind, finding the familiar weight and shape a comfort as it rolled on his hands. He stood there facing the truth that Major Case was another part of his life that was thriving without him, that had moved on leaving him useless in the wake and he had gripped the ball so tightly that the seams left an imprint in his palm. He barely noticed the first ominous rumble of thunder._

* * *

The castors on the chair rumbled over the wooden floorboards as Deakins dragged it into position in front of Goren. Leisurely he turned it and sat, arms resting on the back, looking at who had once been _his _best detective. Goren's eyes were narrowed and Deakins wondered how much was due to pain and how much was an attempt to read his thoughts.

"Don't strain yourself, Bobby. It won't change anything."

He watched Goren's eyes flick to Carver and laughed.

"Oh, he won't be any help..."

* * *

_"I can't help, love. You're going to have to ask your mom. She holds the purse strings these days."_

_Deakins hated denying his daughter anything but since his betting on the ball games had got out of hand Angie had been forced to act. After some desultory small talk he said goodbye to his youngest, hung up and slumped in the recliner. His hand itched to reach out and redial; call in a bet, feel the thrill, feel alive, feel vital. It would be no good – his credit was over-extended at every bookie he knew. Sighing, he switched on the TV, fished the baseball out of the pocket of the dressing-gown that he rarely removed and wondered whether mid-morning was too early for scotch._

_The phone rang again. It was Bukharev reminding him that his loan payment was two days late and he had until the next morning to pay up or some associates would be calling. Deakins slammed down the phone and looked up to see the TV screen fill with the image of his successor trumpeting the praises of his fine detective who had intercepted a suicide bomber._

_"That was Captain Ross of the newly formed Special Services Division, who proved their worth today when one of their team, Detective Robert Goren, foiled a suicide bomb-"_

_The newscaster's voice abruptly ceased and the screen went blank with a fizz and a pop as Deakins' well- aimed baseball shattered the glass. He went to pour a drink._

* * *

"Pour yourself a drink, Ron and stop fretting."

Deakins swiveled in the chair to face Carver and gave him a reassuring smile. His voice was low and assured; full of that indefinable quality that had settled nervous rookies, inspired jaded old-timers, had prompted confidences and confessions. He had a manner that had led the old and young to view him as a father-figure, that had led the Brass to put their trust in his leadership abilities and that had garnered unswerving loyalty from the teams he led. It was a quality that was all the more potent since his visit to 1PP on the day of the big storm. Deakins watched the worry leave Carver's face and his smile grew wider.

* * *

_The front door was forced open wider, causing Deakins to take a step back. Two large thick-necked men followed him into the hall. His mind was working furiously trying to figure a way out of this. Thank God Angie was at work and the girls were away. His hand gripped the baseball in his pocket and he felt a measure of confidence return._

_"If you'd just come through to the study, gentlemen..."_

_Deakins walked along the passage and, despite his robe and slippers, he moved with the air of a man totally at ease and in command. It was a feeling fostered during his years on the job. The memory of all that experience bolstered him further. Entering the study, he made his way around the desk and leisurely lit a cigar as the goons loomed menacingly. The larger of the two spoke: his voice a low growl and the Slavik accent thick._

_"The Boss wants money or fingers – so what's it to be?"_

_Deakins felt a surge of this new... power... and turned on a full-wattage smile, his eyes crinkling with good humour._

_"Now then, boys. I think there may be an alternative..."_

_Amazed that he'd managed to talk himself into a few weeks grace, Deakins re-lit his cigar. Why on earth had the 'associates' been so willing to listen to him? Why had they seemed relieved to let him take charge? And why had they looked at him in a way that was oddly reminiscent of the way his daughters had looked at him when they were little?_

_As he pondered, he watched the silent images on the laptop. They had been playing mutely during the whole encounter. Since he'd broken the TV he'd been reduced to watching the baseball on the laptop. No ballgame this morning, just some sensationalist video montage of supposed superheroes rescuing a man and a kid. Deakins paused and thought back to yesterday's news. A new squad... Special Services... two amazing incidents on consecutive days... He thought of his own close encounter and its astonishing outcome._

_Deakins puffed away at his cigar as he began to piece together the events of the last 48 hours with the rumours he'd heard from the few old friends on the force who still spared him the time of day. It wasn't just the acrid smoke that left a bitter tang in his mouth. A new squad had been formed, an elite squad, a squad that should have been his... Instead it had gone to Captain fucking Ross and he'd fallen on his sword to end up like this._

_He slammed the laptop lid shut and, shrouded in smoke, he stopped seething and began to scheme._


	21. Chapter 21

Deakins stared into Goren's eyes and felt the perverse thrill of power rising. Adair had been wrong; he was worth it and he had the fledging beginnings of a formidable organisation to prove it. He had Maxim and Yegor, two seasoned men who had been passionately loyal to their boss from the old country but had quickly come under his spell. He had the undying devotion of Tiggs, who had access to immeasurable funds. He had even brought in Ron Carver, an intelligent and influential man, who had the right connections and could talk just about anyone into doing just about anything.

And here in front of him was the key to taking control of an elite squad of cops with extraordinary gifts. He was not only worth it – he'd earned it, he deserved it and soon the whole of New York would know his importance. Deakins watched Goren's eyes widen, realising he must have picked up on his train of thought. Good. Let him know just how high the stakes were – and just how far he would go to achieve them.

* * *

Eames studied Jess carefully, aware that her fear was exacerbating her antipathy towards the woman and making her questions harsh. She took a deep breath.

"Think, Jess, think. Was there anyone around when you came out? Any cars parked nearby? Did Bobby say anything that, in retrospect, seemed odd?"

Jess mutely shook her head, a blank look on her face, and Eames resisted the urge to shake her. She pulled out her phone and dialled the squad room.

"Jeffries! No - nothing. The restaurant is more concerned with employee theft than customer safety." Frustrated, Eames paced the sidewalk as she spoke, her eyes searching for something -anything - that could help. The striped canvas awning flapped furiously although there was no wind. Suddenly she stopped.

"Hang on, Jeffries. There's traffic lights at the intersection and ... yes! There's a camera. Contact control; get them to send the tapes over. We're on our way in."

* * *

Carver's eyes darted nervously about the dimly lit room. The long-disused tables and chairs had been stacked along one wall of the nightclub leaving the floor clear except for Goren's bound figure and an empty chair in the centre. Maxim –or was it Yegor? - leaned on one of the silver coloured poles on the stage, eating an apple that he was carefully slicing with a sinister-looking knife. Deakins had abandoned Goren to stand braced against the bar and was puffing away at another one of those infernal cigars. It was a disturbing tableau and Carver's discomfort increased.

Goren silently cursed the rag stuffed in his mouth. If he could only speak he would have a chance of bringing Carver to his senses. He could feel the doubt in the man's mind and could _hear_ the internal debate going on. Desperately he tried to catch Carver's attention without alerting the other men in the room. Goren felt a surge of hope as Carver's dark eyes met his and then he tensed. In his peripheral vision he spotted Deakins nonchalantly move from behind the bar and make his way towards Carver. Goren was not deceived – Deakins' mind revealed there was nothing casual about the move.

He watched Deakins slip a companionable arm around Carver's shoulders, watched him move in as if to whisper a secret or share a private joke and he watched Carver's gaze slip away from his. Goren felt Carver's internal landscape change as doubt was replaced blind faith; the kind of trust, devotion and loyalty that Goren had only previously encountered in young children as they beheld a parent, or a religious devotee during worship or a couple in the first blush of love.

Now Goren understood. No reasoning, no clever argument, no appeal to better natures could combat an influence like that. There was no doubt that Deakins was a Talent. All Goren could do now was watch, listen and wait. Watch for signs of weakness he could utilise, listen to the thoughts in his captors' minds so he could exploit their weaknesses when the time came and wait for the pain in his head to recede and his Talented friends to arrive.

Goren shifted in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position within the constraints of his bonds and not finding one. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Falacci and Logan arrived in the squad room to find their colleagues clustered around the screens in the AV room. Logan caught Jeffries' attention and beckoned him over.

"What's the news?"

Jefferies looked even more downbeat than usual.

"The only lead we've got is the traffic cams from the intersection. We're going through them now. Oh, and Tiggs is MIA too. "

Logan tried to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"You think he's involved?"

Jeffries shrugged.

"Call me cynical but it seems suspicious. But what do I know? Hell, I think _she's_ involved..." Jeffries jerked his head in the direction of a pale and tearful Jess sat at her desk. "I'm a lone voice there. Even Eames is defending her."

Logan watched Rodgers hand Jess a mug and take a seat beside her. The two of them looked lost and Logan guessed they were feeling pretty redundant. As Jess picked up her phone and stared at the screen hopefully Logan had an idea.

"Jeffries – have you done your _thing_ with Goren's phone?"

"What do you take me for? First thing I did when I heard. No luck – must be switched off."

"Logan! Come here!"

Logan answered Fallaci's summons, joining her in the AV room.

"Do you recognise that car?"

Logan moved nearer the screen edging Eames out of the way. He squinted to pick out the details in the grainy black and white image. A smile spread across his face as realisation dawned.

"That's Moses and his crew! I bet they were cruising the street looking for action, as usual. Wanna lean on them? See what else they may have seen?"

Falacci grabbed her jacket in reply and Eames sighed enviously.

"I suppose three would be a crowd?"

Falacci and Logan were half way across the bullpen when Ross called their names. They turned in unison, expecting the familiar admonishment about being discreet and not going overboard. Ross stood with his hands on his hips and a stern expression on his face.

"Any means necessary ...You understand?"

There were matching grins on Logan's and Falacci's faces as they hurried towards the elevator. Oh, yes - they understood.

* * *

The flashing neon lights advertising a diner reflected in the purple metallic paintwork of the pimped- up car. Blue lights shone on the asphalt from under its chassis and complemented the lines of LEDs that trimmed the front grill. The tinted windows were closed but failed to muffle the loud boom-boom of the music from within.

As predicted, Moses and his friends had returned to one of their familiar hangouts.

Logan casually walked up to the passenger side and knocked on the rear window. It slid down a couple of inches to reveal a young black man with a gleaming bald head and a gold tooth that glinted as he sneered.

"Fuck off, pig!"

"That's no way to speak to an officer of the law, Moses. Now, come on out like a good boy. We just want to have a word."

"Well I got nothin' to say -"

The window started to rise but Logan reacted quickly. He slid his fingers into the gap and forced the window down. Moses gawped in surprise as the car door was slowly pried loose until it was free from the vehicle and Logan tossed it aside as if it were a candy wrapper.

The other three occupants scrambled to escape only to be met with a wall of fire that circled the car. Falacci seemed to be made of the flames, her red hair stirring in the intense heat.

"Going somewhere?"

Moses and his crew were suddenly very talkative.

* * *

"Are you sure it was Goren?" Eames asked Logan again, and again Logan replied in the affirmative.

"The description fits –"

He was interrupted by Jeffries.

"Call coming in for you on line one, Petronelli. "

Petronelli looked up, worried. Jeffries put him out of his misery.

"Don't panic – it's not your wife. I'm sure Lucas is fine."

The phone began to ring and Petronelli answered it. Logan carried on.

"I'm pretty sure the 'fancy black dude' Moses saw was Carver. The set-up made him think it was a stakeout – that was why he paid such close attention."

Ross nodded; pleased they had some leads to work on.

"Right – we've got the license plates of the car and the goons' unusual tattoos. Get to work everybody! Somewhere there'll be a clue as to where Goren is..."

The squad dived for the phones and computers; as pleased as Ross to have something solid to pursue. Petronelli put down the phone with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Hey, Cap'n! You remember the kid that Eames and Logan rescued?"

Ross walked over to Petronelli's desk.

"Of course... Aiden. Took a bit of a shine to you, but don't they all? Why?"

"The emergency foster mom just called – said the officer forgot Aiden's coat when he picked him up, wanted to check where she should drop it off..."

Ross' mouth went dry. The boy in his vision!

"Check the logs and dispatch then ring the foster mother back. Find out who the officer was."

He had a nasty suspicion he already knew.

* * *

The boy was heavier than he looked. Tiggs shifted him on his hip as he negotiated the stairs down to the nightclub. He was followed by Maxim, his bulk making his tread heavy on the steps. Deakins moved to greet them, arms held out in a welcoming gesture.

"Ah, perfect! Any trouble?"

Tiggs relinquished his burden gratefully.

"No, stupid cow took one look at my badge and handed him over without question. Still don't know why we need him though. Not when we've got that!" Tiggs spat the words in Goren's direction.

The small boy began to snivel and Deakins raised a hand to stroke his cheek.

"Shhh there... Uncle Jimmy's going to take real good care of you – for now, anyway."

Ignorant of the implied threat, Aiden gazed adoringly up into the blue-grey eyes as Carver protested.

"You said nothing about a child! For God's sake!"

The two large Russian men moved to intervene and Deakins held up a hand, halting them.

"Calm down, Ron. You'll frighten the boy. Maxim, Yegor – settle him while I explain."

Goren breathed steadily through his nose, trying to quell the rising nausea. He was not sure if he was feeling sick from the high emotions swirling around the room, the concussion or from the horror of what the men he had trusted and respected were about to do. He watched as the surreal drama unfolded. Two huge tattooed men constructed a make-shift playpen out of upturned tables and placed the boy within. A quick search of the recently restocked bar provided some suitable snacks and a carton of juice. Deakins donated his baseball with a flourish and a grin. Goren gagged.

Deakins moved to stand behind him and rested his hands on Goren's broad shoulders. Goren flinched at the touch, but Deakins seemed unconcerned as he spoke.

"Tiggs - you may be great with numbers but you've a lot to learn about people. Cops, in particular. They understand about sacrifice for the sake of duty. Push hard and they'll give up one of their own for the greater good. But an innocent kid on the other hand..."

Goren strained against his restraints, his voice muffled by the gag. Deakins patted his shoulders and moved to take Tiggs and Carver by the elbows, guiding them towards the bar. He poured them a drink and continued.

"One night – one turbulent night - and then we will have the city at our feet. Our combined force will have those super cops at our beck and call and all will be ours! Think on it, Ron – no more nagging wife, no more fear of exposure ..."

Deakins exercised his Talent for inspiring loyalty as a small boy played, watched by New York's most intimidating childminders, as a lone man grappled with fear and nausea and his bonds, as three men at the bar raised their glasses in a toast.


	22. Chapter 22

The atmosphere in the captain's office was was cramped as every chair was taken. Logan was forced to lean on the window ledge and Rodgers was perched on the edge of Ross's desk. Falacci had relayed the information gleaned from Moses and his cohorts and the team had thrown themselves into chasing down the new leads. Eames had liaised with an old pal working Organised Crime who'd identified the two Russians as the brothers, Maxim and Yegor Syomin. They used to work for Bukharev but recent rumours suggested they'd either gone rogue or were working for a new player on the scene. There were other rumours of a large amounts of money being stolen from surprising places; nebulous talk but from such a diverse variety of sources to suggest there may be some truth in them. It looked as if a new arrival was laying the foundations of a rival criminal empire.

Eames relayed this information to the squad and Logan nodded in agreement.

"That fits in with what Falacci and I discovered. The car those dopeheads thought was a cop car turned out to be a rental. The details seemed hokey so I poked about further and came up with an outfit called a dummy company. Where the hell is Tiggs when you need him?"

Petronelli was grim-faced as he updated Logan. "Don't count on Tiggs. He's taken the young kid, Aiden - the one you and Eames rescued from the roof of the hospital. I think it's safe to presume that Tiggs is not working for us any longer and is somehow tied up with this."

"That would fit with what I've seen in my visions," said Ross as he glanced over the report Logan was circulating. He handed the papers over to Eames and the room settled into a thoughtful silence. It was broken by Eames' exclamation.

"Look at this! It's Carver's firm that drew up the papers on behalf of Resurgance."

The squad gathered around as if the information had to be seen to be believed. Jeffries reached out and stroked a finger along the list of numbers; the contact details for the parties concerned. A blank unfocused look came over his face.

"Carver's cell…. it's active."

* * *

Carver reached into his pocket, glanced at the screen on his phone and made an apologetic face at Deakins.

"It's my wife..."

Carver was torn. His usual response was to jump to his wife's summons but his new business partner had as strong a hold over him these days. Deakins remained silent, allowing his charismatic power do its work. Given enough exposure, he wouldn't even need to be present for its force to be felt. Maxim and Yegor were evidence of that but Carver was proving to be unusually resistant. Maybe it was the sight of the big genius rendered impotent, maybe it was the twin Russian menace or maybe it was the incongruous babbling of a little boy. The cell phone stopped ringing and Carver relaxed. Almost immediately the phone rang again and, staring into Deakin's face, Carver pressed the 'reject call' button. Deakins grinned and slapped him on the back.

"Good man!"

* * *

"It's downtown!" Jeffries exclaimed. Logan was the first to grasp his meaning.

"Carver's phone?"

Jeffries nodded."Yes, but it switched off now. Someone pass me a map."

Without moving, Eames tore the large scale map off the wall and floated it across to Jeffries. With one mental sweep she cleared a space on the captain's desk as she asked;

"You think that's where they are holding Bobby?"

Jeffries' finger slid across the map, coming to rest on a block in the East Village.

"I don't know but that's an odd location for Carver to be hanging out in at this time of night."

Petronelli called out from across the room. "It's far too sordid for ol' fancy pants. What's the address? I'll pull up the details." Grateful for something to take his mind off Aiden, his fingers flew over the keyboard tapping in the address that Jeffries relayed. He felt a little guilty for worrying so much about Aiden when Goren was in trouble too. Goren, however, was a cop and ex-military, Aiden was just a little boy. Soon his adept fingers had extracted the pertinent information from the computer.

"Several small business; import- export, a bail bondsman and - hmm - a private eye. Oh, now that's interesting..."

Eames craned to look at the screen.

"What?"

"There's an old nightclub in the basement. Went out of business a couple of years ago. Has been stuck in the limbo of re-zoning ever since but last week it got a new owner..."

"For God's sake, Ric - out with it!" It was rare for Ross to call his detectives by their forenames and Rodgers looked at him with concern. Petronelli realised this was not the time for dramatic effect and hastily continued.

"Resurgence - the same company that rented the car. You think Carver's this new crime boss that Eames was talking about?"

Logan shook his head. "I can imagine Carver bending the rules, even breaking a few but a criminal mastermind? Nah."

"I agree." Despite the pervasive sense of dread and waves of nausea, Ross' voice was resolute. "There's someone else, someone pulling his strings-"

He was interrupted by Jess bustling in with a tray bearing various waxed cartons of hot food. She countered the irritated protests.

"Well, you all *need* to eat." Still anxious to compensate for her assumed guilt, she addressed Ross. "Is that the man from your visions you're talking about? The baseball man? The one that's always hidden by smoke and shadows?"

Ross didn't reply. He just waved away the proffered food and made an impatient gesture for her to get to the point.

"You've got all this information - " Jess' pointed at the papers and map on his desk. "Have you tried focusing in on the details, forcing the vision to come?"

Rodgers watched her depart, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"You know, she might be onto something there."

Ross didn't sound so sure.

"It doesn't work that way, I'm powerless-"

"No! You're not." Rodgers was on her feet now and her sharp tone made Ross wince. Eames weighed in.

"You've got to try - for Bobby's sake."

"Forget Bobby - it's Aiden we've got to worry about!"

The squad turned to Petronelli in surprise. Not liking Eames' narrowed eyes and tight lips, or the way various items in the room were beginning to shake, Ross came to a decision.

"I'll do it. But I'm going to need peace and quiet so get out, all of you. Grab some food and rest. We'll need more than our Talents if we're going to get those boys back."

* * *

"Maxim, you stand watch. Yegor, you take over in a couple of hours. Phase two doesn't begin until the six a.m. shift changeover so let's get some rest."

Deakins' voice carried a note of authority; the years of command as compelling as Carver's Talent, and a flurry of activity ensued. Carver carefully hung his jacket on the back of a chair, loosened his tie and settled himself on the faded mock-velvet banquette. Yegor eyed the bench with scorn and eased his bulk down onto the floor, opting to rest his head against the seat rather than trying to perch his huge frame on the narrow ledge. His brother took up sentry at the foot of the stairs. From here he could monitor any activity at the street-level entrance to the club as well as keep an eye on their two hostages. Not that they posed any threat. The boy was asleep in his makeshift playpen and the cop looked far from threatening, slumped awkwardly in the chair he was tied to. Just to be certain, Maxim eased the gun from its shoulder holster and checked the magazine. Goren's head jerked up at the sound.

"Put that away, Maxim," said Deakins. "You won't be needing that tonight. Or tomorrow, if things go according to plan."

Maxim re-holstered the weapon with reluctance, his eyes moving from Deakins to his brother. Yegor patted his own holster through his jacket and the men nodded to each other. Deakins observed the exchange. This time his voice had a hard edge.

"On my command only."

That seemed to satisfy the brothers. Yegor leaned his back again and Maxim took out his knife, this time using it to meticulously scrape his nails clean. Deakins grinned and turned his attention to Tiggs.

"Quit fidgeting. You'll be a wreck by morning if you carry on like that, son."

The words powered by Deakins' unique force washed over Tiggs, smoothing out his jagged nerves. He put down the pencil he'd been tapping on the table.

"I'm not nervous." Not anymore. Deakins' attention had driven the fear away. "I just hate waiting. I don't know how you can just switch off."

"You learn, otherwise with the demands of the job and a young family you'd never sleep." Deakins looked far from tired as he rolled a fresh cigar between his fingers. He clipped off the end, lit it and took a long deep drag exhaling a billow of smoke with a satisfied sigh.

"Aren't you going to take your own advice?" It wasn't often that Tiggs challenged another person directly, but he'd changed a lot since that auspicious meeting in the bar.

"I've slept enough these past few years. Slept too much. There's been little else to do." Tiggs felt anxious again at the bitterness and anger in Deakins' tone. He began to fiddle nervously with a shirt button. Deakins flicked ash off his cigar and continued in a lighter manner.

"But now great things are afoot. The sleeping giant has awakened and the city will tremble in my shadow." He laughed, and Tiggs gulped nervously until he spotted the twinkle in Deakins' blue-grey eyes.

"Rest easy, son. I will. Tomorrow will come soon enough."

Tiggs relaxed his shoulders and folded his arms on the table. He rested his head on his arms and was soon dozing while Maxim continued his manicure and Deakins silently smoked.


	23. Chapter 23

Rodgers bit back a gasp as Ross's hand gripped hers more tightly and she could feel the delicate bones grind against each other. Having such an intimate knowledge of the inner topography of the human body didn't help but at least it provided a distraction. She was perturbed by Ross' pallor, the sheen of sweat and his shallow rapid breathing. She was beginning to regret having encouraged him to do this. No. This was not the time for self-recrimination, Danny needed her. And Goren needed him, as did Aiden. Rodgers moved a little closer and with her free hand she rubbed it in small circles on Ross' back.

"What can you see, Danny? Tell me what you see."

Ross' eyes were focused on the materials laid out on the desk before him - the pictures of Aiden, the map of the neighbourhood, the reports on Carver's business and the dummy corporation, the arrest records and mug shots of the Russian brothers and Goren's photo from his personnel record - but this was not what he described.

"Orange. E-e-verything's orange. It's hot and confusing and someone's screaming. We're 're all there - all of them, and us too. And someone else, in the smoke. I can't make them out -"

Ross abruptly twisted his head and vomited into the trash can by his feet. Grim-faced, he turned back to look at Rodgers.

"We've got to get going. Now. Someone's going to need your Talent by the time the night's through."

* * *

Muffled voices stirred Goren from his fitful doze. For a moment he feared he'd lost his powers of comprehension until he realised that the whispers he could hear were in Russian.

Tentatively he lifted his head, not liking the way his brain seemed to lurch and shift in his skull . He fought against the urge to retch. His Russian was rusty so he could only make out the occasional word but emotions spoke a universal language. Yegor was irritated with being woken, presumably for a change of guard duty, and Maxim was stiff and bored. Goren kept his eyes closed, not wanting to reveal he was awake, and explored the minds of the other occupants of the room.

Three were asleep. Tiggs' dreams were of chaotic numbers swarming in a dark cloud that gradually thickened to be scooped up by a warm loving light. Carver's sleeping mind revealed fantasies of a shrunken, fading wife as he grew in stature and were tinged with guilt. The little boy's headscape was a fragmented stop-motion film of confused images. All were unsettling but the last mind he explored disturbed him the most. Deakins was still awake, dwelling on dark desires of power and revenge. Goren shivered and turned his mind further outward, straining his Talent to find some comfort in the night. And there it was, like the glint of the first evening star.

* * *

Eames waited with her hand resting on the door handle of the back of the van as Ross reiterated his instructions to the squad.

"Jeffries, you stay in here. Monitor the radios and phones. I want complete media blackout on this. No sense giving the guy a platform." Jeffries was glad to be of use but away from the front line. He switched off the van's engine and let it cruise to a halt within visual range of the target address. He was busy lining up various cell phones and handheld radios on the dashboard as Ross continued.

"Petronelli, your priority is the boy. Get him out as quick as you can." As Petronelli was squashed between Eames and the captain in the back of the van, Ross felt rather than saw his nod of acknowledgement.

"Logan, Falacci, you handle the heavies. Gloves off - just do what's necessary." The pair were sat opposite Ross, and he allowed himself a small smile at their matching salutes. They were proving to be quite the team, much like Goren and Eames. That thought brought Ross sharply back to the present.

"Eames, you concentrate on freeing Goren. I don't expect much trouble with Carver and Tiggs. I'll focus on this mysterious leader." Ross looked around the van at his squad, his eyes lingering on Rodgers in the front passenger seat.

"Elizabeth, any news on the medical team? I want them on scene before we start this."

Rodgers twisted in the seat to face him. "They're parked half a block away, out of site. They didn't-"

"Shhh!"

Eames cut her off and motioned for quiet. Her face screwed up in concentration. The squad held its collective breath until her face relaxed and she smiled.

"It's Bobby! I can feel him. He's OK."

There was an audible sigh and the relief was evident in Ross' voice as he asked;

"Can you speak to him? Let him know we're coming."

"No, it doesn't work that way...but I can picture it. Hopefully he'll see."

Eames visualised Ross plan, at least how she hoped it would play out. As the pictures formed in her mind, she had an idea. "Wait, there's something else I can do."

* * *

At first, Goren was too elated at finding Alex's mind to pay attention to her thoughts. The emotions rolled over him, easing the pain of his injuries and the frustration of his confinement. Gradually he realised that she was approaching the building with the aim of looking through one of the small slit-like windows that were set high in the night club's walls. They would be ankle-level to the street outside. It took a great deal of effort not to twist round to look up at her. He found it disorientating to see the room through her eyes and his at the same time. He closed his eyes to reduce the effect and her thoughts came to him more clearly.

"Are you OK?"

Goren tried to give the thumbs up but the handcuffs were ratched tight and held his hands at an awkward angle. The long hours of immobilisation meant they were numb. Goren swore under his breath.

"Just the 3 of them, and you and the boy?"

Goren wanted to scream out. _No! There are two more!_ Alex obviously couldn't see either of the Russians from her limited vantage point. Goren felt his frustration begin to mount again. He almost snorted out loud at Eames' next thought.

"Don't move."

He couldn't move, the bonds were too tight. He clenched his fists and strained against the handcuffs. He was surprised to find them give a little, then a lot; the sudden release almost sending his arms jerking out from his sides. A mental image formed in Alex's mind portraying her as a cartoon strongwoman breaking the links in the chain that held a giant pair of handcuffs together. Goren kept his grin to himself. Alex repeated her earlier question and thankfully, this time Goren had the means to answer. He quickly scanned the minds of the others in the room, not wanting to draw attention to himself with any overt movement, and being careful not to make any sudden move that would set the dangling handcuff chain clinking, opened his hand and spread his fingers wide. Alex caught his meaning.

"Five? There are five, not three?"

Goren gave a thumbs up.

"Weapons?"

The thought was accompanied by the visual of a gun and Goren extended two fingers, then he held his hand flat and waggled it to show there maybe more. He didn't think Deakins was armed and Carver and Tiggs didn't seem the type to carry weapons but he couldn't be sure.

With a stern instruction to 'stand by' Alex retreated until he could feel her no more. It was as if a light had gone out. He linked his thumbs together, to prevent inadvertently revealing he was no longer bound. _She'll be back,_ he told himself. _She'll be back._


	24. Chapter 24

Alex paused to wipe away the tears with her sleeve before opening the back door of the van. Logan reached out an arm to help her up, almost sending her sprawling across his lap in the process. She steadied her herself and reclaimed her seat, updating the squad as she did so.

Ross frowned.

"Five? Well, my presumptions were correct - the fifth must be our fledgling crime lord. Did you get anything from Goren on him?"

Eames shook her head.

"It was a bit of a one-way conversation and the room was too dark for me to make out much detail"

"I'll soon remedy that!"

There was fire in Falacci's eyes and in her voice.

Painfully aware of the feelings of dread and the consequences of an out-of -control pyrokinetic, Ross injected a note of caution.

"Some illumination would be appreciated but don't leave us trapped in a burning basement. Eames, tell us what you saw. "

She began to describe the scene, then realising it was inadequate, reached out with her mind to grab the note pad and pen from Jeffries hands. He yelped in squad ignored him as they watched Eames sketch out the layout of the nightclub, adding the positions of the people she had seen. She was careful to point out the areas that were blind to her. Ross mentally reviewed the plan in his head and saw no reason to make any changes. He set his jaw and grimly pronounced:

"Let's do this."

* * *

A jet of flame blasted down the stairwell. Maxim recoiled, as much in surprise as from the sudden surge of heat. He stumbled back, stunned. He was still trying to recover his senses enough to grab for his gun when the flames vanished as quickly as they'd appeared to be followed by the heavy tread of booted feet on the stairs. His brother was further away from the stairs so his reactions were quicker. He was pulling his piece from under his jacket as Falacci emerged into the room, nursing a ball of fire in her outstretched palm. She fired it across the room, knocking the gun from Yegor's hand, leaving it glowing with heat in a scorched circle on the floor. Maxim had recovered sufficiently to be pulling out his own weapon as he tried to stand. He was kicked back down by blow landed with such force that he was propelled across the smooth floor to crash against the far wall. Somewhere along the way he lost hold of his gun. Goren, forewarned by the mental presence of his friends, had taken advantage of the diversion to loosen the bonds securing his chest to the chair and was now bent over trying to break the cable ties around his ankles. Eames lay a hand on his, halting his efforts, and broke the tough plastic easily with her mind. She continued to hang on to his hand as he straightened up. Despite the chaos and confusion, despite the danger, she felt calm and clear. There was no doubt now, she loved this man. Goren squeezed her hand back, acknowledging her feelings and showing her they were reciprocated. Their moment of accord was interrupted by an exclamation from Ross.

"Deakins!"

The room seemed to freeze in a bizarre tableau. Logan crouched over a prone Yegor, Falacci holding Maxim at bay with a shield of flames and Carver groping for his jacket as if would protect him. Tiggs was cowering under a table and Petronelli paused in his frantic search for Aiden amid the smoke and overturned furniture. Goren and Eames held hands and in the centre of it all, Ross faced his predecessor.

The two men were of similar height and build, with pointed chins and sharp blue eyes. There the similarities ended. Ross was dark and tense, his curly hair glinting with nervous sweat, a kevlar vest snug over taut muscles as he stood in the classic stance of an armed law enforcement officer aiming his weapon. His face was pinched and pale as he surveyed his adversary down the barrel of his gun. By contrast, Deakins was easy to spot in the dim confusion. His dove-grey suit complimented his silver hair that gleamed in Falacci's fire-light. He casually removed the cigar from his mouth and extended his arms in a congenial gesture of welcome. His smile radiated bonhomie and Ross' eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Captain Ross! Welcome. There's no need for such aggression."

Deakins' voice was warm and friendly and Ross felt his resolution falter. The dread that had been his almost constant companion for the last few days had been replaced by a sense of wellbeing. His shoulders relaxed and he lowered his gun slightly. Deakins continued, weaving a spell of trust and reassurance around the occupants of the room.

"We're all friends here. Eames, I gave you a break in MCS. Goren, I gave you freedom to exercise those peculiar ways of yours and Logan, I saved you from permanent exile on Staten Island."

He paused to slowly take a drag on the cigar and assess the impact of his words and his Talent. It was difficult to exert it over a number of people simultaneously and he sensed some resistance. Falacci and Eames were going to be particularly tricky. He was going to need some reinforcement.

"Carver can explain the situation more effectively than me. He is so much better with words."

Carver rose, his confidence returned now he had donned his jacket and straightened his tie. He began to speak in his mellifluous tone, delivering the words with the full force of his Talent behind it, reinforced by murmurs of encouragement by Deakins.

"Put the gun down, Captain. It is of no use here."

Goren watched a blank look come over Ross' face as he placed his weapon on the floor. Carver turned to Logan.

"I think Yegor's had enough, let him him up."

Like an automaton, Logan stepped back giving Yegor space to scramble to his feet. Carver disarmed each member of the squad in turn as Deakins held the room under his sway, each using the unique force of their words. Goren felt the nausea return as he experienced a weird sense of doubling. Something was amiss but he couldn't pin down the source. He blinked and shook his head as if he could shake away the confusion. Carver turned his attention to Eames and Goren felt her hand slip from his.

"No!"

He hadn't realised he had shouted the word out loud until Deakins swivelled to face him. In that moment Goren realised what was wrong. Anger bubbled up within him.

"It's lies! All lies. Your words and your thoughts don't match. Oh my god! What the hell happened to you, Deakins. I used to admire you, trust you. Real trust, not this bullshit snakecharmer act you're pulling."

Deakins withered under the blast of Goren's tirade, his concentration faltering. Goren turned his attention to Carver.

"And you, sucked into this pathetic scheming all because you lied about a misdemeanour when you applied to the Bar and haven't got the balls to own up - or stand up to your wife."

Carver had seen the formidable detective flay a suspect in the interrogation room many times. He now knew how they felt. No Talent was a match for an outraged Goren in full swing. Carver's face crumpled and he hung his head.

From the safety of his hiding place under the table, Tiggs watched this new development. He didn't like the way things were going. Meeting Deakins had been a catalyst, forcing him to quit griping and start acting on his repressed feelings. It was time to tip the balance of power back to their side again. That whining brat would make good leverage.

In one surprisingly athletic move, he pushed the table over and bolted for the boy. Petronelli, now free from Deakins and Carver's influence, spotted the move, snatched up his gun and fired. Eames realised that either Petronelli's aim was off or that he expected Tiggs to move faster. She gave Tiggs a mental shove pushing him into the path of the bullet that was heading for Aiden.

Petronelli dropped his gun in shock and ran to comfort the now screaming boy. He cast a grateful glance at Eames as he cradled Aiden against his shoulder and murmured soothing phrases.

Eames sagged against Goren and he folded her in his arms. Falacci and Logan cuffed the Russian brothers, Logan being careful to not over tighten the cuffs and risk loss of circulation or even amputation. He paused as he snapped the last pair around Carver's wrists.

"Er... can anyone else smell burning?"

"Oh, shit!"

Falacci looked at the patch of floor where the red hot gun had landed. It had been smouldering away and now flames were licking up at the vinyl upholstery on one of the chairs.

"Get everyone out - now! I'll try to contain it."

As she spoke there was a 'woomph' and the chair burst into flames. Ross began to hustle people out, giving directions as he moved.

"Goren, scan the building above, see if there's anyone around. Logan, you bring Tiggs."

"There's no point, Captain. He's dead. Leave him to burn." Petronelli's voice held a rare note of spite.

"You get that boy out of here. Leave the decision making to me." Ross made a shooing gesture urging them out. When the room was clear, he turned to Falacci. "Can you control it?"

Falacci's face was white with strain, her freckles clearly defined and smudged with flecks of soot.

"I can't keep hold of it, it's not mine."

Ross grabbed her arm.

"Then let's run!"

* * *

Rodgers watched as Jeffries' face lost its vague unfocused look.

"Well? Are you getting something?"

Jeffries made a placatory gesture.

"Nothing, just the usual reports of suspected prowlers and nuisance alarms. Wait!"

He paused, eyes closed, then spoke again.

"There's a call for the fire department. Smoke seen coming from the rear of the building."

In unison they swivelled in their seats to look at the doorway where they had last seen their team-mates. In the predawn gloom they could make out several figures emerging, their initial haste fading to variations of exhausted shambling. Goren and Eames were easiest to identify because of their distinctive size and shape. Rodgers threw open the van door and rushed over to them.

"Where's Danny? Is he OK? Who's Logan carrying?"

Goren placed a gentle hand on her arm and her stomach lurched. Goren realised she had misinterpreted his action and was quick to reassure her.

"Ross is fine, he's right behind us. Tiggs will need your attention but there's no the other hand , I could use a little help."

This last was spoken to Rodgers' retreating back. She spotted Ross and hurried over to simultaneously hug and chastise him. Eames was left to deal with Goren, who was rapidly succumbing to the effects of his concussion. She was again grateful for the telekinesis that ensured she could support his weight as she manoeuvred him towards the van, signalling to Jeffries for assistance. His response was prompt.

"I've already called the ambulance. Ah, here they are."

Ross joined them, his arm firmly around Rodgers' waist. The paramedics eased Goren into the back of the ambulance, a process made more difficult because he refused to let go of Eames' hand. Eames clambered into the ambulance with him, not bothering to get the OK from Ross. Rodgers turned away as the ambulance doors swung shut. Her attention was caught by a familiar but unexpected figure.

"Danny, is that ...Deakins?"

Ross sighed.

"Yes. Yes, it is."


	25. Chapter 25

The members of the Special Services Division were gathered around the polished wooden table in the conference room. It had been a week since the confrontation in the was the first time the squad had the chance to get together. They were served hot drinks by Jess, even more efficiently than usual. She was still blaming herself and more than once, Ross had to admonish her for overcompensating. Every day she brought in home-baked cakes and was running herself ragged trying to please everyone, especially Eames.

The situation was aggravated by Goren's absence. He was still under observation at the hospital but was recovering Eames wasn't visiting, which wasn't often, he irritated and charmed the medical staff in equal measure, a sure sign he would be coming home soon. Eames looked strangely incomplete sat at the table without him by her side. Incomplete, but at ease. There were no swarms of paperclips circling about her head and when she stirred her tea, it was by hand.

Tiggs, of course, was absent as well. The condemnation of his character and actions were silenced by Rodgers' account of the conversation she'd had with his mother. The mood in the room was brought down further when Ross broke the news that Deakins had escaped. He'd been detained in a special holding facility with Carver and Hench the Stench. Angie Deakins hadn't heard from her husband, neither had their daughters, but she'd found a couple of envelopes containing large sums of cash. It was likely that, along with providing a means of escape, Deakins was using his Talent for other nefarious purposes.

Ross had further news. Carver was filing for divorce. His arrest, and probable conviction, meant that he would be disqualified from the Bar so Marianne had no hold over him any longer. He was genuinely contrite and was making reparations to the clients he had damaged. He was also cooperating with the DA to ensure Sean Lafferty would receive the help he needed. It was possible that he would soon be reunited with his son. Petronelli nodded.

"I can confirm that."

Petronelli had been unwilling to return Aiden to the foster home, and after discussion with his wife and the necessary checks, they'd provided a temporary home for the boy. " Carver's testimony has made it easier for Sean to have regular contact with Aiden."

Logan chimed in.

"Of course, if he's playing us to get more lenient treatment, we can always run him by our human lie detector when he gets out of the hospital."

He grinned in appreciation of his own wit, a grin that widened as he felt Falacci's hand on his knee. Steve had returned to New York with the kids and pleas for forgiveness. Falacci could not forget the way he'd reeled in horror from her and the word 'freak' still rang in her ears. Custody negotiations were ongoing but the marriage was over. Logan was proving to be as good a partner out of the office as he was at work. The only trouble was his fear that she was using him as a convenient shoulder, a stopgap or as a rebound romance. Still, there was lots of entertainment to be had in convincing him he was wrong.

Ross cleared his throat, interrupting Falacci's rather racy train of thought and she dragged her mind from the leg under her hand to the business in hand. Ross ensured he had everyone's attention before speaking.

"I have a couple of proposals. The first is not going to be popular but hear me out. I propose that Carver joins the SSD."

Cries of protest erupted around the table and Ross let the team vent for a moment before motioning for silence.

"I know, I know. Let me make my case. First off, he's a Talent like us."

"Yeah, and look what he did with it." Petronelli's voice held a note of bitterness.

"Maybe if he'd been part of a team like this -" said Ross.

Logan's fist slammed down on the table, sending a crack along its smooth surface and causing various drinks to spill. Jess shot up from her seat to grab some paper towels as Logan spoke.

"No! You didn't see the state Lafferty was in, up on that roof. Christ, he was thinking of offing his kid. Carver drove him to that point, and he should pay."

There were nods of agreement around the table.

"I'm not suggesting we absolve him of responsibility," said Ross. "He's planning to plead guilty and is willing to accept whatever sentence is handed down."

"He's a criminal, not a cop. Why should he be with us?"

Falacci's harsh question was met with Jess' quieter reply.

"I'm not a cop."

"And Tiggs was a criminal AND a cop," Jeffries chimed in.

The discussion continued with heated exchanges and Ross let the squad voice their opinions. When it had reached the point that the arguments became repetitive, he intervened.

"Quiet! You've all had your say, now let me have mine."

He waited for the team to settle and continued in a quiet voice.

"I need him."

"What!"

Rodgers exclamation matched the stunned expressions on the faces around the table. Ross patted her hand.

"You, of all people know how much of a strain I'm finding it; trying to run the squad, make sense of the premonitions, deal with the Brass and handle the media and public. I can't go on like this."

An uncomfortable hush settled over the room. Falacci shifted in her chair.

"All this time I've been dumping my problems on you. You never said..."

"No I didn't. It's my job." Ross' voice had recovered some of its former strength. "But I need help doing it. Carver would make the perfect PR man. He'd look good on camera, can handle public speaking and knows our ways. Those powers of persuasion of his could come in pretty handy, too." Ross let this sink in for a moment then turned to Eames.

"You've been pretty quiet on the subject. Any thoughts?"

"I can see your point, but for me it depends on how Bobby feels. He's the one with the sore head - and the one who truly knows Carver's mind."

Another silence fell, this time more pensive. Jeffries spoke up.

"If you need him and Goren's good with it, then so am I."

There were various nods and murmurs of agreement from around the room. Ross relaxed back into his chair and let out a deep sigh of relief.

"That's settled then. Now for my second proposal."

He braced his hands on the table and hauled himself to his feet. There was a serious look on his face and the squad collectively tensed. Ross fumbled in his pocket and dropped something that rolled under his chair out of reach. Jess moved to help him and he waved her away as he dropped down to retrieve it. Jess sat back down, suppressing a smile. Ross shuffled on his knees to face Rodgers.

"My second proposal is to you, Elizabeth."

Ross held out a small box, its lid open to reveal something that sparkled under the flourescent lights. Rodgers eyes were sparkling too, although no-one would dare suggest the brusque pragmatic ME was crying. Ross savoured the moment; he was with the woman he loved and among friends who were more like family. He cleared his throat.

"Elizabeth, would you do me the honour of being my wife?"

_A/N - Thank you for your interest and your comments. Your feedback is always appreciated. _

_And thanks to WendyCR72 - for her patience, attentiveness and excellent beta work. _

_Usual Disclaimer - LOCI is not mine but the Secrets universe is. Who knows what the dastardly Deakins may get up to next? _


End file.
